


pull me back if you want to fly

by haroldslouis



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Get Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haroldslouis/pseuds/haroldslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when clint hears pietro made a full recovery and joined the avengers, he simply cannot stay away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so... he're we go!
> 
> \- Clint is not married+children here, Laura is simply his girlfriend.  
> \- There is some Stony in here as well, because they are real af.

There is an ache in his side, spreading all over his chest and settling in the low drum beneath his temples. He groans, his throat feeling raw and dry when he does. A hand on his bicep stops him from turning over and he lets out another huff in pain and frustration.

“Pietro,” he hears. It’s his sister’s soft voice, softening the banging in his head and relieving his temples of the pressure. “Pietro, lay still. You cannot turn over.”

He opens his eyes, squeezing them shut at the bright light above his head. Someone is pressing something cold against his lips and he opens them, sighing in relief when the water soothes the cracks and the dry rasp of his tongue.

“Where am I?” he asks, opening his eyes again. He turns his head to the side, meeting Wanda’s eyes. “What happened?”

She smiles at him. She looks calm, at ease. He has not seen her like this in a long time. “It’s over, Pietro. Ultron is gone, we’re safe. We’re at the new headquarters of the Avengers.”

“Avengers?” Pietro asks, his brows knitting together. “Is everyone alright?”

Wanda hesitates, her teeth worrying over her lower lip. “Doctor Banner,” she motions, “The Hulk, he’s gone. I think the Black Widow is trying to find him. Thor went back to – erm, Asgard – and the rest, they’re still here.”

Something clears up in Pietro’s mind and he opens his eyes further, seeking out his sister’s hand on his arm and holding it tightly. “Clint?” he asks, voice tight.

Wanda nods. “He’s home. He was also shot but it was not serious. You got the most of them when you jumped in front of him and that child.” Her eyes are closed off and confusion is written in them.

Relief floods through Pietro’s veins and he shakes away the last image he had of Clint, the worried and incredulous look in his eyes, like he didn’t believe that Pietro would have jumped in front of him.

“What is the matter sister?” he asks, trailing his thumb along her knuckles. The bed he’s lying on is comfortable, soft, and unlike anything he’s had to sleep on the past ten years.

“Why’d you do it?” Wanda’s voice sounds harsh and thick with emotion. “You were this close to dying, Pietro, _this_ close. I know we both want to do the right thing, but why did you jump in front of him?”

Pietro licks him lips, trying to shift sideways a little and wincing when he leans too much on his shoulder. “He was going to die,” he whispered.

“You almost did.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. “Clint... Hawkeye. He does not deserve to die, this team needs him.”

“But I need you,” Wanda says, a tear rolling over her cheek. “You have me, and I do not know what would have happened if you did not wake up. I hardly had control over my powers while you were in a coma. I thought we only risked our lives for each other?”

Pietro feels the warmth and the comfort of the bed dragging him back down, figuring the medicine they gave him was something strong enough to even bring him under. “Not anymore, little sister, not anymore. And Clint – he’s something else.”

“What do you mean, something else? Pietro?”

Pietro smiles, eyes falling closed. “He is special.”

-

It takes him two more days in the soft and plushy bed before he is feeling like himself again. The sheets have started to feel clingy around him and his powers are bunching up underneath his skin, feeling trapped while they are not being used.

After a large breakfast which someone brings to him, he walks over towards the other side of the room. There is a closet filled with clothes and some are already laid out for him on a chair. He puts them on, flexing his upper body muscles a few times as he comes into control of his own strengths again.

A knock on the door helps him out of his thoughts. “Come in.”

The door opens and Wanda looks around the corner. “Are you ready?”

Pietro shrugs. “I don’t know for what, but yes.”

They walk through the corridors, endless hallways with large windows through which Pietro can see the large grounds around the building and the lining of the trees at the edges. It’s a calm, rustic environment and there is a lot of sun. Sokovia had often been covered underneath big clouds coming in from the mountains. He normally didn’t see much sun from inside the castle.

He looks sideways, taking in his sister’s outfit and the determined steps she takes. She looks good, healthy and well-rested.

“Do you know where we are going?” he asks, nodding awkwardly at someone who passes them in the hallway with his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

“Training ground. You will meet the rest of the team,” she says, taking hold of his hand and she smiles reassuringly.

“The rest?” Pietro repeats. “How many more are there?”

“A few,” she smiles, stopping in front of the elevator. She taps something in on the touchpad, and her fingerprints are scanned.

“It is like that big airplane, only on the ground,” Pietro remarks with a small surprised laugh.

“That big airplane is called a Helicarrier,” Wanda smiles, looking at him as they step into the elevator. “You were unconscious when you were treated on it, but I think you will see it again.”

The elevator swooshes quickly past the floors and Pietro keeps his eyes on the small display above the door. He wonders who he will see, what they will think of him. His sister seems relaxed enough, so they could not be that bad. And in a way, his body is not that different from the America man. He’s even faster than him.

When the doors open, Pietro blinks a few times at the bright lights in the large hall. There are a few jets at the back of the hall, people in grey uniforms walking around. Robotic arms are pointing lasers at parts of the jets and there are vans riding around, all underneath the ringtone of instructions coming through a speaker.

Wanda tugs him down the stairs and he follows. He recognises Vision talking to two other men who are standing on their tiptoes to inspect the glowing gem in his forehead and tapping at it. Pietro hopes they are not going to poke at him.

“Ah, you’re up.”

He turns his head and meets the friendly blue eyes of the America man. Clearing his throat, he nods and holds out his hand. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“It’s all good, and to start over – I’m Steve Rogers.”

He shakes Steve’s hand and smiles. “Mister America, right?”

Steve is about to answer, but Tony Stark comes walking towards them, two robots rolling behind him. “Technically, there is supposed to be a ‘Captain’ in there somewhere,” he quips, patting one of the robots, who Pietro notices is wearing a pointy party hat.

Tony looks sideways at Steve and makes a dismissive flick with his hand. “We’ll watch that movie sometime,” he tells him, before turning back to Pietro. “So, you feeling all Usain Bolt again?”

Pietro looks at Wanda for a second but then nods. “Yes, I feel good.”

“Good, good,” Tony hums, squeezing Steve’s arm. “They’re all yours – I’ll be in the lab if you need me, and don’t start dinner without me or I’ll send Dum-E out to kick your ass.”

“That would be entertaining,” Steve says, and he smiles at Tony’s back when the other man walks away.

Pietro takes a step back, the robots squeezing past him and rolling obediently behind Tony. “Why is that one wearing a hat?” he asks stupidly.

Steve sighs, taking his shield off of his back. “Trust me, kid. You don’t want to know.”

 

Steve introduces him to everyone, except from Vision, who he already met. He likes the android, and Wanda seems comfortable around him. The other two men are Sam Wilson and James Rhodes, both military men.

He spends some time talking to them about the last battle against Ultron and he endures them poking at his muscles and joking about his speed. Sam’s alter ego is called Falcon and Pietro’s eyes widen in surprise when the man clicks a button and two large wings fold out of a pack on his back. He lets his fingers trail along them, notices the way every cob is working in sync with the other parts of the wings.

“It looks amazing,” he says, eyeing the _Stark Industries_ logo on the pack.

“I know,” Sam grins, his smile wide and his eyes light, “Stark keeps fiddling with them but I think they’re as good as they can get.”

Steve huffs. “Wait ‘til he finds out the way to make them invisible.”

“He could do that?” Pietro asks, looking at Steve.

“It’s Tony,” Rhodey says. “I think invisibility will be the least of your problems.”

“He’s a handful,” Steve explains softly to Pietro, “But he’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, and as long as he is _your_ handful, I’ve got some peace and quiet for once,” Rhodey adds.

Pietro notices the red flush on the Captain’s cheeks but decides not to comment on it.

The Black Widow, or Natasha, adds herself to their group later on, standing next to Steve. Her hands are folded over her chest and she looks determined. There is a small hint of bags underneath her eyes but Pietro figures he’d have them too if he were looking for Wanda. He does not know Dr. Banner, and the Hulk even less, but he hopes they will find him. The battle could not have been won if he hadn’t been there, fighting alongside them.

They pair up for their training session, but Pietro keeps to the punching of training bots on the side of the area. He does not quite feel up to taking on someone else yet, instead aiming perfectly at a puffy robot. Steve explains that Tony calls them Puffies, and Pietro wonders when the image in his head of a mass-murderer changed into the image of – as Natasha calls him – a huge dork.

He spends his time working out, forgetting about the ticking of the clock on the wall. It’s easy for him to get lost in the focus, to finally push his body to a limit before, even if that limit is not as high yet as it was before he went down.

Although the name seems cute, the Puffies are vicious little flying things and Pietro finds himself working up a sweat as he fights them off. His muscles are aching and his feet are moving in the way he wants them to move, small, cautious steps, before speeding forwards and slamming the side of his hand against a bot.

The sun is already going down once they finish their training, Steve and Natasha walking down the stairs again and giving them feedback on their techniques. Pietro likes this method better, the talking, the building up of each other. Baron von Strucker might have made him and his sister into this, but his methods were cruel and harsh. They learned their skills and their training because they had to survive, not necessarily to make themselves better because they wanted to.

Tony adds himself to their little group as they walk into a cosy looking room, long tables spread out and a buffet along the wall. All the walls Pietro has seen so far are made out of glass, and he likes it. He doesn’t feel locked up, and he likes knowing that he isn’t.

Wanda makes a plate for him, telling him to stay seated before he hurts himself again. Pietro scoffs at that, like he would injure himself getting some food, but he digs in gratefully when she sets the plate down in front of him.

“See, Steve? I told you hiring ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. employees would be a good plan. Remember when you tried to make broccoli for the whole team back in the tower?” Tony says, chewing around a bite, “First of all, you made _broccoli_ , s econd, it tasted like something I had to eat back in Afghanistan.”

Steve just nods, smiling fondly at Tony’s chewing.

Pietro looks at Tony. “You’ve been in Afghanistan? As a soldier?”

Tony suddenly looks slightly injured, but Rhodey butts in, grinning, “More like a hostage whose bratty lifestyle got on the nerves of some terrorists, until the sucker decided he wanted a cheese burger and escaped.”

Pietro twitches his lips, impressed. He did not think of Tony Stark as someone to survive a hostage by terrorists, let alone escape such a situation.

Natasha sits down across from him, smiling at her plate of food. She takes a bite and then looks at Pietro for a few seconds, eyes slightly squinted. “I called Clint when you woke up. He’s very happy to hear you made it.”

Pietro swallows. “How is he?”

Natasha shrugs. “Sleep-deprived mostly, but he’s okay. I’m glad you woke up though, kid, because he didn’t stop calling me until you did. You should give him a ring yourself tonight, that ought to make him feel better.”

“I’m not sure,” Pietro hesitates, twiddling with his fork.

“He wants to hear from you, trust me,” Natasha says.

Pietro laughs softly. “Yeah, well, he also wanted to put a few arrows through my body every time he saw me, so excuse me for being a little apprehensive.” He stumbles over the last word and silently damns his accent.

Steve laughs, no, giggles at the end of the table. “Kid, once you get to know Clint you’ll know that he’s been wanting to put arrows through all of us here at this table. Even Vision.”

Pietro raises his eyebrows at Vision, who just shrugs. “I don’t get it either,” he says.

-

After he hugs his sister goodnight, Pietro sinks down on the bed. He looks around the room again. Tony had shown him a remote with all kinds of options to blur up the glass walls or to adjust the temperature and the brightness of the light in the room. It’s sitting on his nightstand and Pietro can’t grasp it. He can’t grasp the idea that the person he and his sister have hated for so long is doing all this for them. He could have left them there in Sokovia. He could have let him die, instead of taking him back to this facility and showing him all the ways in which he and his sister can be part of a team.

If Tony Stark can be all that, then surely Clint Barton can be more than just a handsome guy who wants to have his body on a feathered stick.

Pietro reaches out to the phone and takes it in his hand. There is a list of contacts already programmed into the phone, and after a while of fiddling with the touch screen, Pietro finds Clint’s numbers. He takes a deep breath and dials it, listening to the tone.

“Clint.”

His breathing hitches. “H-Hi, it’s Pietro.”

It’s silent for a while, Clint softly breathing through the phone before he says, “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Bruised. You?”

“Like I was shot at a few days ago.” He hears the small grin in Clint’s voice.

“Oh, yes, sorry for that. I tried to get them all, you know.” Pietro bites his lower lip nervously. Clint doesn’t sound hostile but he doesn’t sound friendly either. He doesn’t know what a friendly Clint sounds like, anyway.

“Are you apologising for throwing yourself in front of me?” Clint sounds amused.

“No, no!” Pietro quickly says. “I just.. I feel bad you still got hit. I’m recovered but you’re not.”

“You know what, kid. Funny enough, I’d rather be recovering than be dead.”

Pietro smiles. “Okay.”

It’s silent for a while, and he listens to Clint’s breathing again, finding that it makes him feel calm.

“You know, I thought I would never get the chance to thank you for what you did for me,” Clint suddenly says, his voice sounding honest.

“I’d do it for anyon—”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Clint interrupts him, “You wouldn’t risk taking both you and your sister’s life for just anyone.”

Pietro hesitates. “I, erm.”

“You don’t have to say anything, or try to explain it. It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Pietro asks.

“Yes. We’re okay.”


	2. two

Clint clicks his bow in the right place, looking at the arrows and the guns before closing the metal lid. His shoes thump as he walks out of the Quinjet, and the soft ground of the field silences his steps.

Laura is on the front porch, eating a Popsicle and watching him pack his things. His suitcase filled with clothing and other basic necessities is sitting at the bottom step of the wooden stairs. He’s still wearing his civilian clothes since Tony called him to say there is already a new suit for him at the new Avengers base.

“I thought you were going to stay longer,” Laura says with a pensive look in her eyes, throwing the wooden stick of the Popsicle in the bushes in front of the porch.

“We’re a bit low on numbers since Thor and Banner are gone. I’d like to help Steve and Nat with the training of the new guys, and possibly lend a hand whenever Tony decides to create another robot villain,” Clint says, shrugging a jacket over his shoulders, wincing when he feels the barely healed skin stretch over his bruised ribs.

“Don’t wear yourself out so much this time, okay?” Laura asks, walking towards him and holding her arms open.

He steps between them, kissing her temple gently. “I don’t think I really get to make the call on how tired I get. Don’t worry, I’ll look after myself. I promise.”

“You always promise, but then you come home twice, both of the times bleeding and barely alive.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I was plenty alive the last time, thanks to the Maximoff kid,” Clint grunts, leaning away and picking up his suitcase.

“Are they there?” Laura asks.

“What do you mean?”

“That witch and the fast one – are they there as well?”

“Yes, of course,” Clint says, “They’re Avengers now.”

Laura hesitates, and Clint raises his eyebrows in question. She shrugs, “I remember you telling me they were annoying kids who needed to be taught some manners. You even wanted to shoot some arrows at the boy.”

“I still think they need to be taught manners, maybe that’s why I’m going,” Clint shrugs, kissing Laura briefly before walking down the steps.

He ignores his girlfriend’s pensive look, knows he was never really good at lying to her as he was to everyone else. Now, however, is not the time to think about his objectives behind returning to the Avengers.

While the Quinjet is steady and safe in the air, Clint’s mind automatically drifts off and he does start to think about it. Living together in the tower had been great, everyone had their own apartment and privacy and he liked getting together for dinner or a movie night. But here, at the new facility, things weren’t quite as luxurious yet. Tony told him the personal housing was still under construction, and so far everyone had a fairly comfortable room for himself. Clint doesn’t like feeling cooped up, but he’s willing to do it now. But for what?

He knows for what, or rather, for whom. One simple phone call with a thank you does not equate what Pietro did for him, which was saving his life. Clint scoffs, closing his eyes for a second and shaking his head slowly. He wonders why the kid did it. From the second he floored him in the forest of Sokovia ‘til the second he called him an old man, he’d been annoyed by him. Pietro was a cocky son of a bitch, and nothing more, and he had been sure Pietro had felt the same way about him.

Now, he’s not so sure anymore. The gentle smile on the kid’s face when he said: “You did not see that coming?” before collapsing right new to him was something that was etched into his brain. He had seen it every night before he went to bed, until Natasha called him to say he woke up, he’s fine.

He had wanted to reach out for him, when they were brought onto the carrier. He remembers lying on the hard seats, twisting sideways to look down at Pietro. He thought he was dead, and he had reached out for him, nearly taking his hand but stopped from doing so. He remembers Natasha’s astonished face when she told him Pietro’s heart was still beating – the last thing he heard before he went into surgery himself for his wound.

The flight to the new headquarters isn’t long, and Clint is kind of happy about the fact that it’s in such a remote environment. He prefers the woods and the long plains over the busyness of the city. Back in New York he couldn't walk out of the building without having to sign autographs or take selfies with enthusiastic teenagers.

He calls in to let Tony and Steve know he’s here, and a runway is made clear for him. The Quinjet is quickly taken over by robots and their squeaking lasers, and Clint grabs his stuff before he walks out into the large hall.

Natasha is already standing by the elevator, a small smile around her lips. “I was going to say that the prodigal son returns, but you haven’t even been gone nearly long enough for me to say that. What is it, Barton, you missed me?”

Clint smiles and nudges her with his elbow, stepping into the elevator with her. “Don’t flatter yourself. I heard about the buffet and figured that I did not suffer through Steve’s cooking only to miss out on this luxury,” he says, tugging his suitcase inside the elevator.

In the hallway, they pass Vision, who is busy talking to himself, Clint thinks. Natasha tells him he’s talking to Thor back in Asgard, and Clint does not even want to know how he manages to do that.

“Well,” Natasha says, putting Clint’s bow and arrows on one of the tables in the room. “It’s not as big as the apartments used to be, but it’s big.”

“We’ve been undercover in one of those huts in Bangladesh,” Clint reminds her. “I think we’ll survive this.”

Natasha gives him a grin and sits down on his bed, bouncing it a little. “I’m right next door to you, you know,” she says. “Wanda is on the other side, and Pietro’s got the corner room.”

“Sure, give that little brat the biggest room,” Clint mumbles half-heartedly, tugging off his gloves. He turns back towards Natasha. “Where is Steve’s room?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, an amused smile playing around her lips. “You mean, where is Steve and Tony’s room?”

“Steve _and_ Tony?” Clint repeats, eyes widening. “When did that happen?”

“Laura was right,” Natasha shrugs, “You really are oblivious to those kind of things. Speaking of, how did she feel about you heading out so soon again? I thought you were going to settle down, maybe even marry or something?”

Clint shrugs, opening his suitcase and taking out his clothes. He puts them down on the empty planks in his closet. “We’re not in a hurry or anything, we’ve got plenty of time to do that.”

“You mean you’re not in a hurry,” Natasha hums, falling back on his bed and tinkering with the magazine of one of her guns.

“Whatever,” Clint says, “Thinking about that kind of stuff here gives me a headache.”

-

He and Natasha coop up in one of the labs for the rest of the day. Clint feels like meeting the rest of the team, getting to know them better than just their first names, but Natasha seems pretty adamant about finding Bruce.

They’re still hunched over the computers, trying to find out the coordinates where exactly the jet could have gone down. Tony has already tried to help Natasha, but the stealth-mode he’d put on the jets was, let’s be real, pretty damn good and so far there haven’t been any successes at finding the jet or Bruce.

Hungry and exhausted he finally makes his way downstairs, settling down in the large space which has been dubbed as their new living room. The TV is bigger and the sound system is better, but it’s still unfamiliar. Sam and Rhodey eventually pile in as well, settling down on the couch next to him. They watch Pirates of the Caribbean 2 because, apparently, they watched the first one a few nights ago.

Halfway through the movie, Wanda and Pietro walk in. Clint notices the small trip in Pietro’s step and the widening of his eyes when he sees him. He makes a mock-salute with his two fingers before turning back towards the movie.

He could stand up. He could walk towards Pietro, shake his hand and thank him again, properly. But somehow he doesn’t. He stays in his seat and watches the movie, his eyes flicking to the chair where Pietro is every once in a while. It goes unnoticed of course, he knows how to stare at people without them realising it. Or he thinks so, because Pietro turns his head and gives him something shy of a smile and Clint finds himself choking on a kernel. Natasha slaps his back a few times.

-

After dinner, Clint makes his way up the stairs again to head back to his room. He walks past the elevator when it goes open, Pietro stepping out of it.

Clint gives him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

Pietro shrugs. “What?”

“You’re the fastest guy on the planet and you take the fucking elevator to go up two floors?”

“Fast, yes. Lazy, too,” Pietro smiles, a blush tainting his cheeks.

Clint raises his eyebrows unimpressed. “Apparently.” He moves to walk down the hall towards his room but Pietro’s voice makes him stop.

“And you?” he asks, “How are you, Clint?”

It sounds weird, hearing his name coming from Pietro’s lips. He barely dares to admit that he likes it.

“I’m okay,” Clint shrugs, “My room is smaller than I thought it would be but I’ll manage.”

Pietro smiles. “Do you want to see mine?”

Clint clears his throat. “Sorry, what?”

“My room. Maybe mine is bigger. Perhaps Stark likes me better.” There is a teasing lilt to Pietro’s accent and it makes Clint’s fingers tingle.

“I doubt that,” Clint says, but he follows Pietro down the hall. He patiently waits for the other man to fiddle with the touch screen and the DNA-lock on the door, figuring Pietro will learn it faster if he has to figure it out himself.

The door clicks open and Pietro holds it open for him, Clint catching a scent of deodorant and cheese from the spaghetti as he passes him into the room. He turns around a few times, sits down on the bed to test it and then hums.

“You’re right. Your room is bigger and your bed is even softer than mine.”

“It is very soft,” Pietro says, pushing his hands in the pockets of his track pants. “But I still need to thank Stark for it. It’s more than me and my sister deserve, after all that we’ve done to you and your team.”

“Hey,” Clint says, standing up from the bed when he sees Pietro staring at the floor. He walks closer and lifts his chin with his finger, ignoring the exciting thrill down his spine when Pietro looks up at him. “I already told your sister and I will tell you as well. It doesn’t matter where you come from or what you did – as long as you’re willing to fight for the good side now. Talking about who is to blame for this or for that won’t help anything, in fact, we would’ve banned Tony from the grounds if we kept ourselves busy with that. Nick Fury told us back then, and he was right, that we have nothing but our wit and our will to change the world. Whatever we did before then, doesn’t matter.”

Pietro nods softly. “Thank you.” He looks back up once more, taking a small step forward. “Really, thank you. Wanda told me it was your trust in her that gave her the power to carry on, to fight for the right thing. You deserve more credit than you get, Agent Barton.”

Clint smiles. “I’m technically not an agent anymore,” he says, “But if we’re going to talk about getting credit for doing something selfless, then I think we should put the focus on you. You’re the one who saved me from turning into a Spongebob-body.”

“I do not understand,” Pietro frowns.

Clint grins. “I’m sure Tony has some DVD’s lying around, because Steve did get that reference.” He lets his smile drop and looks at Pietro with a serious twitch around his mouth, “I owe you my life, and I know that. I want you to know that I will do everything I can to make it right, to make it better for you and your sister. You both have had enough trouble to deal with, and I just want you to know that here, in the Avengers team, you can carry that baggage with you, and no one will judge you for it.”

“You know that?” Pietro asks.

Clint nods. “First-hand experience. It really doesn’t matter where you come from, as long as you’re going somewhere with us, as a part of the Avengers.”

“I really want that,” Pietro nods. “You make it sound very easy and very, erm, I don’t know the world. Comfortable?”

“It’s not the right word,” Clint smiles, “But I know what you mean.”

They look at each other for a while, in silence. Clint thinks Pietro looks good, just like his sister does. They don’t have that haunted look in their eyes anymore, and it’s only now that Clint realises how bright Pietro’s eyes actually are.

He clears his throat. “So, do you think you’re up for Pirates of the Caribbean 3? Personally, it’s my favourite.”

Pietro smiles. “As long as Stark doesn’t talk throughout the entire movie.”

Clint holds the door of the room open for him. “One can always dream kid, but I wouldn’t count on it.”


	3. three

Pietro likes him.

It’s been two months since Clint moved onto the base and since then Pietro has found it very hard to stay away from the snappy but sweet bowman. He feels more at ease with himself as well, realising after a few weeks that no one held any grudges towards him and his sister. Wanda is mostly bonding with Natasha and Pietro catches them more than once whispering to each other in hushed Russian. He tries not to eavesdrop but sometimes he catches Banner’s name, and he’s glad Natasha is confiding in his sister. Wanda never had many friends, not even before their parents were killed. She didn’t have any powers back then but people had always found them weird and out of step.

In the beginning it was mostly Steve who wasn’t very relaxed, carrying the weight of the new team on his shoulders and figuring out how to balance said weight properly. He thought Clint and him were still on the fence about each other and sent them out to do some missions. It weren’t serious missions, but Pietro liked them nevertheless. They made him feel a part of something and he got to use his energy and skills in the right way. He also got to spend time with Clint, experiencing the fleeting humour he’d noticed before blooming into a big, good sense of humour and he enjoyed spending time with Clint, especially when it was just the two of them.

It didn’t take him very long to realise that he had quite a fancy towards the man, although it didn’t sit very well with him. Clint had a girlfriend, and even though Pietro had to remind himself of the fact sometimes – because Clint himself sure didn’t seem to remember sometimes – he still made sure that he kept his distance. He isn’t even sure if he would have closed the distance if Clint was single. He wasn’t the type people generally fell for anyway.

Right now, they’re sitting in the Quinjet, on their way back from a clean-up mission. Earlier today Tony had ran into some angry robots, the very last of Baron von Strucker’s army, and he didn’t have the time to bring back some of the vital tech to examine the robots. Trust Steve to send him and Clint out to retrieve it, even though they could have easily sent one of the other employees.

“You don’t mind this?” Pietro asks, sitting back in his seat and watching Clint manoeuver the Quinjet above the clouds.

“By this you mean...?”

“Putting up with me on these bullshit assignments Steve keeps giving us. They’re way below your paygrade.”

Clint laughs softly to himself. “I see you’re still a brat.”

“Why’s that?” Pietro asks, an indignant ring to his voice. He tilts his head sideways to look at Clint more directly, staring at the sharp, handsome profile of the man’s face.

“Because you think this is a bullshit assignment. Clearly you’re still a rookie if you think this is a bullshit assignment. I once had to sit eighteen hours in a car to make sure a dog didn’t leave a house _, a fucking dog_.”

Pietro has to laugh at the indignant tone to Clint’s voice. “Alright, you have a point. It is not so bad. But do you mind doing it with me?”

Clint shakes his head. “No, I like you.”

“You do?” Pietro tries to keep his eagerness at bay, but he thinks it slips through the words anyway.

Clint hums. “You don’t talk about nonsense, you’ve got a good sense of music and we like the same things – I can name a handful of people who’d be a worse partner.”

Pietro smiles and then shrugs. “Well, I guess it helps that you do not want to shoot me with at least five arrows anymore,” he says, “It really makes you more likeable as well.”

That brings a laugh out of Clint. “Trust me kid, if I really wanted to put an arrow through you then I would’ve done it already – especially back then when you were fighting for mister tin man.”

“You keep calling me that, a kid,” Pietro says, squinting his eyes a little and studying Clint some more. He likes the way Clint holds onto the steering device, strong hands and long fingers, thick veins on his lower arms.

Clint brings up one hand, flicking a few switches above their heads. He pushes a button. “Quinjet A-02, requesting to land,” he speaks into his headphone.

After a few seconds of static a voice replies, “Runway 4 is clear, what is your haul?”

“Robot tech and an annoying Eastern-European, over,” Clint replies, winking at Pietro, who huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

When the Quinjet is safely brought to the ground by Clint, they drag the banged up mix of metal and wires out of the jet and put it on one of the carts. A medic walks over and after a standard check-up they are both deemed fully intact and healthy.

Clint pushes the cart with the tech in front of him, saying: “I’ll drop this off at Tony’s lab, you can go relax or something.”

“No, it’s okay,” Pietro says, reluctant to leave Clint’s side. He speeds up to walk beside Clint and helps him push the heavy cart. “I can walk with you.”

“You really don’t have to,” Clint tries, but Pietro shakes his head.

“Maybe Stark has questions about how we retrieved it, it would be better if I were there.”

Clint shrugs and gives up. “Whatever you say.”

They dump the tech on Tony’s lab table and the man jumps up, having drifted off into a nap. He sorts through the stuff and attaches some wires into the half broken metal skeletons of the robots.

“Thanks,” he yawns, “guys. This will keep me busy until dinner.”

“Do you even sleep?” Clint asks him, beating Pietro to asking the same question.

Tony shrugs. “I can sleep when I’m dead, besides, it’s not like Steve is the world’s best sleeper, the guy gets up at five every morning to do God knows what.”

“Morning run,” Pietro says.

Clint and Tony both turn towards him. Pietro shrugs. “I sometimes see him when I go out running in the woods in the mornings, he’s slow so I don’t bother.”

“Excuse me, you run in the woods?” Clint asks, raising his eyebrows. “For _fun_?”

“It’s healthy,” Pietro pouts.

“You should be sleeping at five in the morning, not run through those woods. This is America, you never know what you’ll find out there.”

“There is a fence around the grounds, yes?” Pietro shrugs, looking at Tony.

Tony grins sheepishly. “Right. About that.”

“No,” Clint groans, dropping his head on his lower arm. “You placed a facility which houses the most mentally unstable superheroes in the middle of the woods without putting at least a two hundred feet fence around the thing?”

“There’s a digital defence halo around it,” Tony protests. “Besides, most of the parts have a high fence but just not all of them.”

“And what about the next teenager with a phone who thinks: _hey let’s go visit the Avengers!_ , huh? I cannot stand to fake smile for one more fucking selfie, let alone refrain from shooting at him.”

Steve walks into the lab, unwinding some white tape around his knuckles. He looks at Pietro’s sheepish expression and then notices Clint’s clear exasperation.

“What did you do Tony?” he asks.

Clint grins and Tony gasps. “Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“He didn’t secure the perimeter of the area and now Clint is having a fit,” Pietro explains, spotting a fruit bowl on a table and quickly grabbing an apple, biting happily at it.

“Excuse you,” Clint throws Pietro a glance, “I am not having a fit. But as a mere mortal here I would like a sense of security.”

“Yeah, hey, I am a mortal as well, Legolas. I know I have a godlike physique but I am still flesh and bones,” Tony throws a glance at Pietro and Steve, “ _Normal_ flesh and bones, at least.”

“Screw that, you have a metal suit to protect you, or the world’s largest teddy bear,” Clint nods at Steve, who grins and nods at Tony.

“Fine,” Tony throws his hands up, grease sticking to his fingertips. “If you want a complete fence, you’ll get it. Happy?”

“Thank you,” Clint emphasizes. He walks back from the table and squeezes Pietro’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, not so fast,” Steve says, staring at the blueprints on the computer. “I can’t actually see where the fence is missing and where it’s already been built.”

“So?” Pietro shrugs. “Just send someone out there to measure the amount of fence we need.”

Clint groans. “Pietro, you did not just say that, how stupid are y—”

“Excellent idea!” Steve exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Clint, since you want the fence so bad, you have to start working for it, and Pietro, it was your idea so you get to join in on the fun.”

Pietro tries to mask his glee at working together with Clint again. It doesn’t bother him, he could have to march through hundreds of acres of woods with Clint and he’d still do it, even if it was the middle of the winter.

Clint, however, doesn’t seem so thrilled. “You’re enjoying the hell out of this aren’t you?” he asks, eyeing Steve suspiciously.

Steve smiles at him, his eyes twinkling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clint grabs Pietro’s arm and drags him along as they make their way out of the lab, Pietro still freezing up every time the older man touches him anywhere.

“You know,” Tony mumbles, leaning over the blueprints on the screen, “You actually _can_ see where the fence still needs to be built.”

Steve leans over his shoulder and presses a kiss against Tony’s cheekbone. “Yes, but they don’t know that.”

Tony grins. “So that’s the dark side you were telling me about earlier.”

-

“You enjoy this a lot, don’t you?” Wanda asks him that night, sitting on the windowsill in his room. She’s slowly eating ice cream from a tub, twirling the spoon with her powers.

Pietro is sitting cross-legged in front of his closet, trying to find a pair of matching socks for the first time in his life.

“Of course I am enjoying being here, it’s warm, there’s hot water and good food, plus the company is better than those Germans,” he says, evading the point where he knows his sister is getting at.

“I am not talking about that,” Wanda says, turning around and looking at him. “Don’t lie, Pietro, you like him.”

Pietro shrugs, holding up two socks and comparing the colour. He doesn’t know if they’re both black or one of them is dark blue. “What is there not to like. Clint is a nice guy, once you get past all of his threats.”

“He has a girlfriend, brother. I expect you would honour that.”

“I do, I do,” Pietro sighs, pulling on the socks. “He never talks about her anyway. And I would know since I nearly spend every minute of the day with him.”

“You don’t sound very upset about that,” Wanda points out, licking the ice cream from the back of her spoon.

“That’s because I’m not, I like spending time with him. What is the harm in that?”

Wanda sighs, stepping down from the windowsill and helping Pietro back on his feet. She looks at her older brother and smiles gently. “There is nothing wrong with having friends. I am glad he’s your friend. But I don’t want to see you get hurt, or even worse, heartbroken over someone who doesn’t like men.”

“It won’t happen,” Pietro assures her. He pulls on a thick jacket and a pair of new shoes, tying the laces tightly.

He kisses the top of Wanda’s head before walking towards the door. “Don’t wait up for me, we’ll probably be gone all night.”

He closes the door behind him and walks down the hallway. Clint steps out of his room, also wearing some gear which will keep him warm during the frosty cold.

“I still don’t get why you want to do it now, it’s nearly nine p.m.,” Pietro says.

“I see better in the night anyway,” Clint shrugs.

“Or you just don’t want to be obligated to watch the new Project Runway episode with Natasha.”

Clint gives him a glance but then his shoulders sag and he shrugs. “You really are too observant for your own good, kid,” he grins.

“Everyone in the world knows you hate that programme.”

“Except Nat, probably,” Clint says.

“No, she knows it as well,” Pietro smiles. “That’s why she makes you watch it with her.”

Clint takes his head in a head-lock, ruffling his hair and muttering, “So instead of being a brat you’re now gonna be a smartass?”

Pietro is too out of breath by their closeness to answer coherently.


	4. four

They trudge through the grass together, Clint carrying his bow in one hand and his arrow case slung over his shoulder. The sun has already set past the treeline, casting a yellow glow along the horizon.

Clint takes out the map he had crumpled in one of his pockets and stares at the area. “I think it’s best if we just start closest to the building, okay?”

Pietro is fiddling with the flashlight, a complicated looking thing which Tony had shoved at him before they left the building, teasingly advising, “If you see a bear, the only one you need to outrun is Clint.”

“Pietro, did you hear me?”

Pietro’s head snaps up. “Huh?”

Clint shakes his head fondly, already used to the dreaminess of the boy. “I asked if it was okay if we start closest to the building, then we can work our way around and end up at the building again when we’re finished.”

“Oh, right,” Pietro nods. “Yes, that’s okay.”

Clint nods as well, looking at his feet and hearing twigs and branches snapping underneath his sturdy boots. It’s a crisp night but he supposes it could have been colder. Once the sun is completely set the temperatures will drop some more.

The walk to the edge of the terrain takes a while and Clint barely notices that Pietro is walking next to him. The boy is always so quiet when he walks, and he doesn’t speak often. At least, not to Clint. He has seen it multiple times, coming downstairs for breakfast and watching as Pietro and Steve laugh loudly over something they saw the other day. Pietro is even comfortable around Tony now, sitting cross-legged on one of the tables in his lab, eating crisps and adding snarky comments to which Tony grins and then nudges him off the table. Clint tries not to feel jealous but he can’t help it. Yes, he admits he was one of the most apprehensive members of the team when Pietro and Wanda decided to do the right thing, but that all happened nearly three months ago.

“You are thinking again,” Pietro suddenly says, his thick accent derailing Clint’s train of thoughts. “It is never a good thing to think so much at night.”

“Yeah?” Clint asks, taking a look at the map again to avoid looking at Pietro. He knows the lowering sun is causing a beautiful orange halo around Pietro’s whole body and he does not want to be caught staring. “And why is that?”

“Miss Hill told me you do not get enough Vitamin-D when the sun is gone and that causes sad thoughts, especially when you’re tired.”

Clint laughs softly. “Did no one ever tell you that you shouldn’t just believe what someone tells you?”

“But it’s true,” Pietro says. “I looked it up on the Google and it said the same.”

“ _The Google_ , huh?” Clint asks, an amused smile stretching out his lips. “Look at you, taking on the brave, wide world all by yourself.”

They arrive at the edge of the area, the forest thickening around them. Pietro looks at the fence in front of them and then turns his eyes back to Clint.

“You always talk like I am a child.”

Clint frowns. “No, I don’t. If I did, I would’ve let you at the building and did this stuff all by myself.”

Pietro raises his eyebrows. “So why didn’t you?”

“Because I need you to protect me,” Clint smiles. His insides warm up at the sight of Pietro, who looks a bit surprised.

“Well,” Pietro clears his throat, “I will only protect you if you promise to stop calling me a child.” He points sideways, directing Clint to walk along in that direction.

Clint pushes some low-hanging branches out of the way, thinking Pietro’s demand over. He wonders why it’s so important to him that he doesn’t call him a kid anymore. Maybe it’s because Pietro wants to be taken seriously? But he is already taken seriously. Steve often confides in Pietro to talk about strategy and tactics for a new mission. What if what Pietro really wants is to be taken seriously by _him_? Clint shakes off the absurd thought.

“Alright, but just because I love my life and I don’t want to see you pout – I won’t call you a kid anymore,” he concedes, smiling at Pietro.

He receives a small smile in response. “Thank you.”

They reach the part where the fence stops, and Pietro sits down in the grass. Clint looks at him taking a few things out of his pocket, including a measurer. Pietro seems to have some trouble with how it works and Clint lets him be, walking towards the edge of the fence.

He looks around, trailing his hand along the fence, proclaiming, “I really don’t understand why they stopped building the fence at this spot? It’s exactly the same as the other parts we just passed.”

Pietro looks up, the branches of the tree above him casting shadows on his face. “I don’t know. Maybe there is something like a pond or a small river outside the area so the animals or humans can’t reach this part?”

Clint hums. “I highly doubt it,” he says. “I didn’t see any water concentrations just outside this area. Maybe we could conclude that Tony and the robots who probably built up this fence were just tired and bored and decided to take a nap instead.”

Pietro’s laugh sounds bright and free. Clint wants to hear it again.

“I do not think robots are able to take naps,” Pietro says, smiling down at the measurer he is still trying to figure out.

“They’re Tony’s – of course they can take naps.”

Pietro shrugs. “You’ve got a point there.”

When Pietro stands up, Clint sees his shoulder muscles flex underneath the vest he’s wearing. He clears his throat and looks back at the fence, keeping his eyes fixed on something else than Pietro’s insanely fit body.

“Okay,” Pietro says, groaning a bit from the cold. The sun is gone and the forest is suddenly dark. He comes to stand next to Clint and hands him the end of the measuring wheel. “You hold onto that. I walk over there,” he instructs, nodding towards the other side.

Clint nods, but then asks, “But what if the gap between the fences is too big?”

“If you lose me,” Pietro smiles, “Just follow the line.”

“Alright,” Clint sighs. He can’t deny that he doesn’t like Pietro walking off, but it’s the only way they can measure this damn fence, so he simply has to accept it. “You better hope I don’t run into a bear while you’re gone, because you did promise you’d protect me.”

He means to say it like he’s joking but Pietro notices the serious edge to his voice.

“Clint,” he says, walking towards him. He gently curls two fingers around Clint’s exposed wrist. “Promise is promise. Nothing will happen.”

Before Clint can find the words to properly respond, Pietro is already rolling out the measuring wheel and walking off along the treeline.

Without Pietro standing next to him Clint feels the cold seep through his clothes. Shuddering, he leans against the fence, looking at the measurer and sees the meters adding up. At 56 meter and 30 centimetre the line stops and Clint barely has a second before the line snaps back into the measurer and he feels, rather than sees, Pietro running back to him.

“How much was it?” Pietro asks, flicking his hair out of his eyes. Clint still isn’t quite used to how quick he actually is, Pietro still looking as composed as ever after having ran fifty meter in under two seconds. It leaves Clint with the longing to see how Pietro would look when he is out of breath.

Clearing his throat, he looks up at Pietro and says, “Fifty-six, thirty. Do you have somewhere to write it down?”

Pietro shakes his head. “No, I can remember it.”

“Alright,” Clint says, tucking the measurer in his pocket and he starts walking again.

-

It goes like this for hours, every time the gaps between the fences are between fifty and a hundred meters. It’s boring, tedious and Clint feels the throbbing in his side. His ribs still haven’t fully healed from the gunshot wound and because he keeps using his body to its utmost capacity during trainings and meetings, his side still bothers him when his body is tired.

He tugs the zipper of his jacket open and dips his hand underneath his shirt, rubbing his fingers along the calloused skin. Natasha told him to go to Dr. Cho, so she could patch him up properly but Clint didn’t feel like it, and now it was hardly worth the trouble.

Pietro catches him rubbing at his ribs, wincing slightly with every step he takes on the unsolid ground. “Are you alright?” he asks.

Clint makes a dismissive flick with his hand. “Nothing serious. It’s just that my ribs don’t like being jostled at night after already having to endure a whole day of jostling.”

“You know,” Pietro says, stopping. “I can always carry you.”

Clint scoffs. “Yeah, no way in hell that's going to happen.”

“What?” Pietro asks, eyes wide. “It’s faster too, we’ll have the rest of this thing done in under an hour if we don’t have to walk the parts along the fence.”

“I’m not having a twenty-year-old carry me around,” Clint says.

“No one would know,” Pietro offers. “And it might actually give me some sleep tonight as well, and it’s better for your body."

"You told me you didn't mind the lack of sleep."

"I don't," Pietro says. "But if I have the opportunity to sleep at least three hours left of this night, then I will take it. So you can either man up, or I am hauling you over my shoulder and I will tell everyone too.”

Clint raises his eyebrows at Pietro. “Those are some intimidating words.”

“Do you want me to prove them?” Pietro asks, mirroring Clint’s expression.

Clint thinks the offer over for a bit, two sides of him battling for a voice in his head. On one hand his ribs are starting to ache a lot, and he does _want_ Pietro to hold him – accepting that went easier than Clint thought. But on the other hand he has his pride to deal with and wonders what Pietro will think of him if he accepts his offer.

He pushes the last voice away, figuring it was Pietro himself who offered to carry him in the first place.

“Okay,” he sighs, shifting his bow to his other hand. “You can carry me, like I'm some damsel in distress.”

Pietro has a soft smile on his face, taking Clint’s bow and arrow case from him and hanging them both over his shoulder and onto his back. Clint doesn’t remember the last time he willingly let someone else take his bow and arrows.

“You’re not a damsel in distress, Clint,” Pietro says, stepping closer. “You’re just a stubborn bastard who doesn’t tell when he’s hurt.”

Before Clint can respond, Pietro has lifted him up, one arm underneath his shoulder blades, his hand soft on Clint’s tender side, the other arm underneath his knees. He grins at Clint.

Clint glares in return. “Bridal style? Are you fucking kidding me?”

The smug smile on Pietro’s face doesn’t waver. “What?  You didn’t want me to haul you over my shoulder, now, did you?”

Clint grunts. “Just do your thing.”

And Pietro does. At first, Clint’s breathing hitches in his throat when Pietro starts running, the dark trees and the few overhead lights turning more blurry every time Pietro increases his speed. It makes Clint feel nauseous at first. The feeling can’t be compared to freefalling or parachute jumping – he’s done all that more times than he can count. This is different and it feels like he’s letting all the control he has over himself fall down into Pietro’s legs and arms.

Eventually his mind clears up enough and he focuses on the things he _can_ feel. The solid strength of Pietro’s chest against his arm, the warm crook of his neck where he can smell Pietro’s cologne – the thought of Pietro wearing cologne at night makes him frown in confusion for a second. But mostly, the wiry muscles of Pietro’s arms, lodged underneath his body and keeping him tight and warm and _safe_ , that is what makes Clint’s eyelids droop.

The swooshing of the grass underneath Pietro’s feet, the crackling of the branches, the whipping sounds of the treetops swinging in the wind – it all goes unnoticed by Clint. All he hears is the beautiful _thump-thump_ of Pietro’s heart against his ear, reminding him again of how close Pietro had been to death, for him. He brings his hand up, which had first been curled over his waist, and presses it against Pietro’s chest, eyes closing to focus on the steady heartbeat. He thinks he feels and hears Pietro’s heartbeat picking up when he touches it, but he isn’t sure.

A loud ringing sound shakes him out of his reverie and the air comes knocking back into his body when Pietro abruptly stops running.

Clint needs some time to adjust to the slowness of the world, the simple sounds and colours, all back to normal now he’s not moving around at an insane speed.

“Is that your phone?” Pietro asks, and now Clint knows what he sounds like when he’s out of breath. He contemplates throwing his phone away, to crowd up against Pietro again to hear his fast heartbeat and to feel the increased rising and falling of the younger man's chest.

He knows he’s staring, he knows Pietro is staring back. But he just can’t stop.

The ringing of his phone gets louder and Clint sighs, shaking his head and taking his phone out from the inside pocket of his jacket.

He looks at the screen and a small frown digs its way into his forehead.

“Who is it?” Pietro asks. He stands close to Clint and Clint can feel his body heat radiating from him. He wants to curl up in it.

He clears his throat. “Laura,” he says, looking up at Pietro. “My girlfriend.”


	5. five

Pietro looks at Clint, who is squinting at his phone. The sun is already coming up, lighting up the layer of fog which has formed on top of the grass. It’s still early, though. Clint doesn’t seem to want to answer the phone, staring at the screen. Pietro looks at him, thinking Clint won’t notice him staring now. Even though they just spent the whole night walking – or in his case, running – around, Clint doesn’t look like he did. His hair is a bit mussed up and Pietro’s fingers tingle from wanting to touch it and smooth it back in place. There is a shade of stubble on Clint’s jaw, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and his full lips.

He shakes out of his thoughts when Clint taps the red button on his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket.

“Why didn’t you answer it?” Pietro asks, catching up with Clint when he older man starts walking again. They are already in sight of the building again, but Pietro wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t. He already misses the warm, solid weight of Clint in his arms. “It is early in the morning, it could have been urgent.”

Clint shrugs. “I’ll call her back in a few hours, I need some sleep first before she starts telling me off for staying up all night.”

“If she does, it’s understandable,” Pietro shrugs. He feels Clint’s warmth through his sleeve every time their arms brush.

“I’m a grown man who can very well decide whether he goes through a night without sleep or not,” Clint says, his voice sounding a bit clipped.

“Alright,”Pietro says, giving Clint a sideways glance. “I know you are.”

They reach the edge of the lawn, Thor’s imprints from when he left for Asgard still pressed into the grass. Pietro stomps his boots on the pavement a few times, clunks of grass letting loose from the soles of his shoes.

The building is still relatively silent, most of the staff who live outside of the area haven’t arrived yet. Pietro listens to the quiet scuffs both his and Clint’s shoes make on the floor as they walk up the stairs towards the second floor.

Just when Clint is about to turn the corner towards his own room, Pietro remembers he is still carrying his bow and arrows. “Wait, Clint,” he mumbles, keeping his voice low in case some of the team is still sleeping. “You forgot these.”

Clint comes walking back with a confused expression on his face, like he cannot imagine ever forgetting about his bow and arrows. “Thanks,” he whispers, and Pietro thinks he hears his sharp intake of breath when their fingers brush.

He hangs the case over Clint’s shoulder and squeezes it, feeling the firm muscle underneath his palm. “Sweet dreams,” he says, turning around.

“Wait.” This time it’s Clint who says it, wringing his hands together and looking slightly out of his depth.

“Yeah?” Pietro asks, a gentle smile finding its way onto his face when he sees Clint like that.

“I was just wondering,” Clint mumbles, rubbing awkwardly at the nape of his neck, “Not that you’re obligated to, but I was just wondering if you, erm, wanted to play some Xbox with me.”

“Now?”

Clint shakes his head hastily, “No, no. I don’t want to keep you awake. Just, when we’ve both had our sleep? Before dinner or after, or something?”

Pietro smiles. “You know how bad I am at Xbox.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t done it so much, you’ll learn,” Clint says. Pietro wants to walk up and hug him, to see that hopeful glint in Clint’s eyes from up close.

Instead, he nods and stifles a yawn. “Okay, I will let you kiss my ass.”

“What?”

“Kick!” Pietro quickly corrects, ready for the ground to swallow him up, “I said kick.”

Clint’s grin is amused, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright, whatever you say. I’ll see you tonight, kid.” He walks towards his room and Pietro will forever deny he let his gaze wander down Clint's body.

“I’m not a kid,” he weakly mumbles, rubbing his tired eyes.

Clint’s laugh is soft, and just before he walks into his room Pietro hears him say, “No. No, you’re not.”

-

When Pietro shuffles into his sister’s room he doesn’t expect her to already sit at the window, fully dressed and seeming ready for the day.

She turns around when she hears him, raising an eyebrow. “And where have you been, young man?” she teases.

Pietro grins and walks up to her, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m exhausted, I feel like I could sleep for days.” He walks over towards her still unmade bed and flops down on top of it.

“Well, I do hope Clint realises that you’ve actually gone with him for no reason other than that you like him – otherwise all of this has been for nothing,” Wanda says, walking over and sitting beside him. She wipes some locks of hair away from his face and pulls up the blanket over his body.

“Even if he doesn’t, it’s okay,” Pietro mumbles into the pillow. The comfortable warmth and softness of the bed is fogging up his brain and he yawns again. “I even carried him around for a large part of the night.”

“You did?” He feels the smile in his sister’s voice. “That must’ve been nice. I always like it when you hold me and run at the same time. Remember when it helped me to sleep back when Ultron was still here?”

Pietro nods, his hand sliding across the duvet to hold and squeeze his sister’s. “I’m glad we’re here, _dragă soră._ But if things go wrong again, I will always run and carry you to the end of the earth if we must. You know that?”

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Wanda whispers, trailing her fingers through Pietro’s hair. “I can feel it in my powers, we are where we belong, Pietro.” She stands up from the bed, straightening her clothes. She tucks in the blankets around Pietro’s body and walks to the door. “Now, sleep. Do not think I did not hear you and Clint – you need to be awake for your date tonight.”

Just before sleep takes him away, Pietro manages to mumble, “It’s not a date.”

 

He falls into a restless sleep, his hands desperately clutching at the thin sheets around him. He dreams about being back in Sokovia, back in that horrible castle and the tiny cells they used to keep him in, separate from his sister. He’s clutching at the iron bars of the doors, rattling them in their hinges but they don’t give.

He hears a faint cry in the distance, sensing his sister’s agony throughout his entire body. Sweat breaks out all over his skin and his joints ache from having to lie on the cold, stone ground. Crying out, he pulls at the doors again, only to stand up again and trying to pounce against them. The speed behind his hits only damages his shoulders when he tries to bang against the door. He yells again, for someone, _anyone_ to hear him.

“Pietro!”

Two pair of hands are shaking at his shoulders, trying to drag him out of the pain the dream is giving him. His eyes fly open,  meeting the alarmed expressions on both Steve and Tony’s face.

“Wha—What happened?” he breathes, shooting up to sit up straight in bed. The sheets are tangled around his ankles and he quickly shakes them off – the feeling reminds him too much of the shackles they used to put around his feet, to see if his powers would bunch up if he couldn’t use them, to see if it would make him stronger, more of their perfect killing machine they were planning on making of him.

“Calm down, you’re going to have a heart attack if you keep this up,” Steve says, sitting down on the bed and holding Pietro’s wrists gently. “Just look at me and try to breath with me, okay?”

Pietro mirrors Steve’s breathing for a few minutes, the anxiety slowly flowing out. He feels the muscles between his shoulder blades relax, the tension slipping away into the air with every breath he takes.

Eventually his breathing is back to normal, his eyes don’t shine the bright blue anymore and he’s able to relax all of his muscles again. He gives Tony a grateful smile when the older man hands him a glass of water.

“What happened? Do you want to talk about it or should we go get Wanda? She’s in the training facility but she’ll be downstairs for dinner soon.”

Pietro shakes his head, downing the water quickly and falling back into the heap of pillows against the headboard. “No, I-I think I’m okay. I just need to get some fresh air.”

His stomach lets out a harsh growl, and Tony raises his eyebrows. “And some food, so it seems,” he says. “When was the last time you ate?”

Pietro shrugs. “I don’t know. Me and Clint left around nine last night, and we didn’t eat anything when we came back. Almost a day ago, I guess.”

“It’s a good thing Sam wanted to eat outside today,” Steve says, standing up from the bed and folding the sheets away. “That way you can get some fresh air as well as some food. Nat wanted to cook today so maybe she’ll make something you and your sister both already know.”

Pietro nods, warmth filling his heart when he notices Steve and Tony’s concerned but gentle looks they are giving him. When was the last time someone other than his sister had been there to wake him up from his nightmares? He can’t remember the year.

He lets his legs slide out of bed, wrinkling his nose when he notices he’s still wearing the clothes he wore last night. “Do you think I should change?” he asks, standing up and smoothing his unruly hair back down.

“Maybe a new shirt,” Tony shrugs, “But don’t go shower or anything, you smell fine, and we don’t want to find you unconscious in the shower in an hour. That would be awkward, hm.”

Pietro smiles and nods, walking behind Steve and Tony and closing the door of his sister’s room behind him. He walks over to his own room, quickly stripping and picking a clean black shirt from his closet. After he’s put it over his head and pulled a pair of sneakers on his feet, he walks back  into the corridor again, Steve and Tony patiently waiting for him and talking to each other.

They walk downstairs and into the hallway, the sun hitting Pietro straight in his face when he passes through the back door. The door leads to the small patio behind the building. There is a large table with comfortable chairs along it, and Bruce – the dog Tony named because he misses Dr. Banner – is peacefully sleeping in front of the outdoor fireplace.

Clint is listening to Sam, who sits in front of him, while lazily chewing on a breadstick. He drops it when he sees Pietro and the supportive hand Steve has on his shoulder. The chair squeaks on the slate floor when he pushes it backwards to stand up, but Tony holds up his hand, saying, “It’s fine, nothing’s wrong.”

Pietro walks past the table and sits down on the other side of Clint, sinking deep into the soft chair. Sam leans over the table to take a closer look at him.

“Are you alright? You look a bit sick, dude,” Sam asks.

Pietro nods, taking a piece of bread. He tears a small part of the crust and puts it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “I’m okay, Sam,” he says, after swallowing, “Just didn’t really sleep all that well I suppose.”

Sam and Steve trade out a glance, a sense of understanding dawning in Sam’s eyes. He turns his head back towards Pietro and gives him a smile. “Been there, kid. Let’s hope you’ll have more luck at sleeping tonight.”

Pietro nods, giving Sam a thankful smile. He can feel Clint’s eyes on him but he doesn’t meet them, instead eating the rest of his bread and listening to the conversations around him. The crackle of the fire behind him warms up his body and the candles on the table move softly in the breeze. It’s easy to relax here, around the people he has suddenly start to care about so much and who accept him.

When Wanda and Vision step onto the patio as well, she immediately makes her way towards Pietro, noticing there is something off about him.

“What happened, why didn’t you call me?” she asks, holding her hand against Pietro’s forehead, red twirls flowing in the palm of her hand. She sinks down in the chair next to him and grabs his hand, squeezing her fingers around his.

“I’m fine,” Pietro says, and he really is. “Just had one of those dreams again. Steve and Tony were there to wake me up before it got worse.”

Wanda seems to be relieved at that. “Still,” she says, “You should’ve come get me.”

“Next time,” Pietro promises, because he knows there will be one.

-

Out of all the things they do as a team, the missions, the training sessions, Pietro likes the dinners the most. It’s mostly bickering between Steve and Tony, which everyone has their own thing to say about and Pietro ends up wiping a few tears of laughter away from his cheeks. As the evening goes on, the company around the table gets smaller. Natasha and Wanda went inside for the new episode of Suits and Tony had some malfunctioning tech he needed to take a good look at.

Just when Pietro is scraping his plate clean with the edge of his spoon, Clint leans in and says, “You sure you okay?”

Pietro turns to look at him. He can see the small green flecks in Clint’s eyes and smell the fresh scent of shaving cream. Clint has been by his side all evening, his rich laughter and snarky comments making Pietro smile the widest.

“I am now,” he says, “It’s not so bad when there are people around.”

Clint nods, smiling. “I’m glad. Although, if you’re too exhausted to play Xbox tonight, that’s totally fine, I understand.”

“You’re just scared you’re going to lose, aren’t you?”

“To you?” Clint snorts, “Even Vision is better than you and he even gets skittish every time he’s shooting at a virtual person.”

“Alright,” Pietro wipes his hands on his napkin and pushes his chair backwards. “Let’s see what happens.”

Clint’s grins widens. “Okay.”

They settle on the couch in Pietro’s room, the TV casting the only light in the room. There is laughter heard from outside in the garden, where Maria and Rhodey are playing a game of soccer against two bots from the Iron Legion. Steve is refereeing, shouting loudly and whistling on his fingers every once in a while.

Pietro sinks deeper into the soft couch, his knee and shoulder touching Clint’s. He supposes he could move away, the couch is big enough, but he doesn’t want to and instead leans into the warmth.

They start a game of Call of Duty: Ghosts and Pietro is just starting to get the hang of how his gun works when Clint’s phone rings again. He casts a look sideways and sees Laura’s name on the display. Clint turns it off, all the while killing two ghosts with one hand on his controller.

“Did you talk to her today?” Pietro asks, biting down on the tip of his tongue, trying to focus on his character. His thumbs twiddle with the buttons.

“Yeah I did,” Clint says, reviving Pietro’s character for the fourth time. “She wants me to come home tomorrow.”

Pietro frowns, his ears catching up on the sounds of a goal being made outside and the continuous rattle of the machine guns coming from the TV. “Really, why?”

“I told her my ribs still weren’t fully healed and she thinks I am pushing myself beyond my limits by staying here and doing what needs to be done.”

“And you?” Pietro asks, “What do you think?”

He feels Clint shrugging against him, the fabric of his shirt sliding along Pietro’s arm. “I don’t know. She might have a point but this is my job. People get tired on their jobs, it’s normal. Besides, she doesn’t understand since I can’t tell her everything about where we are or what I am doing. I sometimes wish I could, ‘cause she’s yelling at me for it but I signed secrecy contracts and all that. ”

“And other times?” Pietro asks.

“Other times, I feel like she wouldn’t understand even if she _did_ know what I was doing,” Clint sighs, lowering on the couch and resting his shoulder against Pietro’s.

-

After Pietro has died over ten times, they switch to playing FIFA 15. Pietro moves towards the other side of the couch so Clint cannot see where he’s putting his attempts at goal. He also keeps poking Clint in his side with his toes every time the man tries to take a shot, giggling like crazy when he misses.

“Would you just stop doing that?” Clint exclaims, after missing another free kick. He’s been shouting at Pietro and the TV for the last half hour but the smile on his face is wide and happy.

Pietro smirks, leaning his head back on the armrest of the couch, his body shaking with laughter when Clint makes another frustrated sound.

“If I had known you were so competitive I would have done this sooner,” he says, pushing the buttons on the controller and scoring a goal. It’s now 13-0 and Clint’s face is heating up like a hot air balloon.

“You knew I was competitive from the second you floored me in that forest,” Clint huffs, making his left winger slide through Pietro’s defence and scoring his first goal. He jumps up from the couch, throwing his hands in the air and cheering at the top of his lungs.

Pietro grins at his happiness. “Congratulations, now you only need twelve more,” he quips.

“You,” Clint points at him, “You little shit.” He slumps back down on the couch and grabs Pietro’s ankles, pulling him closer towards him and holding his feet in his lap.

Pietro sits up straight, his face just a few inches from Clint’s. He sees Clint’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallows, his eyes widening just slightly.

A flow of blood rushes through his veins and he brings his hands up, cupping Clint’s jaw and leaning in to press their lips together. Clint’s lips are soft and warm and Pietro breathes out sharply when he feels Clint’s hand on his knee. When he tries to deepen the kiss after a few seconds, Clint suddenly pulls back, breathing hard.

“What are you doing?” he asks, surprise and confusion written all over his face.

A feeling of dread fills Pietro and he quickly pulls his hands away from Clint’s face. “Oh my God,” he whispers, the realisation of what he just did hitting him. “Clint, I—”

“Pietro, I have a girlfriend,” Clint says, standing up from the couch.

Pietro lets his head drop into his hands, a white hot feeling of panic rushing through him and he doesn’t dare to look up at Clint. “I know, I know,” he mutters into his hands. “Shit, Clint, that really wasn’t supposed to happen, I promise.”

He hears Clint inhaling and exhaling deeply. “Pietro, just—we can’t, I can’t—”

“I know,” Pietro says again, biting down hard on his lower lip. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Clint paces back and forth a few times, dragging a hand over his face and rubbing at the back of his neck. Pietro stares at his feet as he walks and feels the tips of his fingers turning cold.

“Clint, please,” he says, but Clint shakes his head, seeming to be deep in thought and too distracted.

“I’m sorry, Pietro,” Clint says, walking towards the door, “But I definitely need to get away from you now or I’m going to break my own rules.”

Pietro feels wetness clinging to his eyelashes when he hears the door of his room closing with a click, the sound of Clint's footsteps disappearing down the hall. He lies down on the couch, clenching his fists, and his frustrated scream is muffled by a pillow.


	6. six

The following morning, after barely sleeping a wink at night, Clint makes his way downstairs. His shoes make soft tapping noises on the wooden floors and he has to smile when he sees a photo shopped picture of Nick Fury on the refrigerator, which is probably Sam’s doing. He looks around him but everything is quiet, the clock just having hit 5 a.m. Usually Steve is already taking his morning run by now, but everything in the kitchen seems untouched. There are some napkins laying on the table and Clint grabs one, also taking a pen from a green mug and quickly scribbling down:

_Off to visit Laura. I took jet A-02, back before tomorrow evening – Clint_

Perhaps it is cowardly of him, to leave so early to prevent himself from seeing Pietro at breakfast. On the other hand, though, he knows it has to go this way. It took a lot of willpower last night not to pull Pietro in his lap and to let him deepen the kiss, and Clint doesn’t think he can handle the pained look Pietro will probably be wearing today. Just the thought of it makes something inside him ache.

He walks through the corridor which leads to the big hall. There have been numerous times when he’s had to take the Quinjet out for something in the early morning, and he barely needs to prepare. The large gate at the end of the hall opens automatically as Clint walks towards the jet.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes him turn around, and he’s wondering why he hadn’t heard their footsteps.

Wanda stands behind him, arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t look angry or disappointed, mostly she just looks curious.

“Where are you going so early, Clint?” she asks, walking up to him and smiling sweetly.

“To talk to Laura,” Clint says, hitching his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. “It’s a two-hour-flight and I’d like to be back as soon as possible.”

“Why are you visiting her? Did something happen?”

Clint shakes his head. “No, nothing happened. I just – I need to talk to her about some things. About me being here as well. After the whole Ultron thing where I nearly died she has been a bit apprehensive about all this.”

Wanda hums. “Okay. I hope she’ll be alright when she sees you again. But are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that my brother sort of – how do you Americans say it? – made a move on you last night?”

“He told you?”

“In a few words,” Wanda shrugs, “But don’t worry, I am not mad at you. You did the right thing by walking away. Pietro can sometimes get a little caught up in his emotions, that’s why he does these impulsive things sometimes.” _Like saving your life three months ago,_ goes unspoken. “But he really does care about you, you know?”

“Does he, really?” Clint asks, finding that hard to believe. Apart from a few moments when it’s just the two of them, Pietro seems most comfortable around Sam or Steve – people who understand some of the PTSD-symptoms he’s having and who know how to deal with them.

“Yes,” Wanda nods, “He does. Ever since he mocked you in the forest of Sokovia, and all the times he teased you in between with the ‘you didn’t see that coming?’ – it’s a weird way, but it’s _his_ way of showing he cares about you. He even saved your life and couldn’t give me, his own sister, a logical explanation for why he did it. You must realise it too, Clint, my brother is not someone to risk his own life for someone he feels negative or even neutral about.”

Clint clears his throat, nodding. “I guess you’re right – I sometimes still don’t understand why he did it. But, in a way, he is the reason why I wanted to return to the Avengers so I could give him a proper thank you. He’s, uh,” Clint feels the blush high on his cheeks, “he’s something special.” _I think I’m in love with him._

Wanda nods, looking a bit amused at Clint being flustered. “He is, and that is why I do not want you to treat him differently now, Clint. I don’t know how you feel about him and I think you do not even know it completely for yourself. But Pietro cares a lot about you, I don’t want to see him break down over losing one of his first and deep friendships.”

“He won’t,” Clint says, a determined edge to his voice, “Whatever is going to happen, I really care about him as well. I just – I just need some time to talk to Laura and that’s why I’m going.”

Wanda smiles softly. “That’s okay, I understand.” She steps away and gives him a small wave. “Fly safe.”

Clint nods. “Thank you,” he says, then adding, “And do you think I could text Pietro when he’s awake? Or does he want to be left alone completely?”

“You should text him,” Wanda says. “I can feel his nerves under my own skin too. He’s worried, Clint.”

Clint smiles tightly. “He doesn’t have to be.”

He gives Wanda one last smile and a nod before opening the side-door of the Quinjet, climbing inside. The motor makes a low whirring sound when he turns it on, flicking all the right switches over his head before grabbing the wheel. The low rumble of the engine makes his body shudder a bit as he steers the jet in the right direction, picking up pace once he’s out of the hall. Tony recently had a new runway made, the asphalt slipping smoothly away underneath the wheels.

Clint smiles when he feels the low dip his stomach makes, the jet having come off the ground. He looks in his mirrors, watching the base getting smaller and smaller as he himself goes higher.

-

It’s a clear morning and Clint barely has to pay attention during the flight. After the jet has reached the right attitude he turns on the automatic pilot and sits back, enjoying the view. He knows what he has to do, and that is making a choice. Does he want something familiar and comfortable, or something that’s new, exciting and quite possibly also difficult. Because Pietro isn’t Laura. Pietro is loud and quiet, he is sunset and sunrise, blue like the ocean and red like fire, all at the same time and it makes Clint’s head spin. On the other hand, being with Laura is safe, easy. She is always there and she is _normal_ , in some sense of the word. When he is with Laura it is always him who is the most fucked-up of the two.

But isn’t that why he likes Pietro? Isn’t that why he was intrigued by him from day one? Pietro, with his nightmares and the haunted look in his eyes, with his strength and power as well as his quiet gentleness and innocent view of Clint.

Laura cannot know what Clint does or what he has done, who he has killed, who he has injured for life for the sake of the world. Clint thinks Laura deep-down doesn’t want to know, wants to pretend like Clint is an exceptional kind of soldier who goes away on missions for peace. But he doesn’t, and he hasn’t. Countless of his missions have been for the purpose of war, betrayal and espionage. He is not a soldier, even though that’s what Laura wants him to be. She won’t be able to deal with the fact that his job essentially is nothing more than killing things before they kill him. Laura wouldn’t be able to accept that.

But then there is Pietro, and he already knows all of this. He has seen Clint during one of the times he was doing his job – killing HYDRA agents without giving them a second glance or a thought other than: “Hostile.” And Pietro doesn’t mind because he understands who Clint is, he has seen the true Clint from day one. Thinking about it, Clint realises he has been nothing but himself around Pietro, all he has said and done around him came from deep within himself, and that is the Clint Pietro knows and, apparently, likes. _Really_ likes, enough to want to kiss him.

Letting out a breath of incredulous laughter, Clint shakes his head and rubs at his tired eyes. He almost can’t believe that someone would fall for the real thing, for him, in all of the aspects. It makes him feel warm inside, knowing that _just Clint_ is enough for Pietro, and just Clint is basically a whole lot of Clint – angry towards everything that threatens his life, hurt because of his past, energetic and vibrant because he knows he’s found his family, spontaneous and passionate towards the things that make his life worth it. All of that is wrapped up inside of him and he knows that’s what Pietro loves.

Pietro loves him. Clint knows it. Maybe not in the definition which couples are used to say to each other a few months into the relationship, but more in the way of a deep feeling of being connected to someone since the second you saw them. Breathing in and out deeply, Clint accepts it. He accepts the love Pietro has for him, even though he cannot quite understand why, and he knows Pietro is not only one having these feelings.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, Clint types up a message to Pietro.

**_sorry I wasnt there when you woke up. needed to do something first. Don’t worry, Im back before tomorrow –C_ **

He turns his gaze back towards the wide sky spread out in front of him, knowing he is nearly there. The light of the automatic pilot flickers for a bit when Clint turns it off, manoeuvring the Quinjet sideways.

-

Laura is already standing on the porch by the time Clint has safely landed the jet. After climbing out of the cabin, he looks around him, taking in the scent of the soil and staring at the cows in the distance.

He passes through the small fence and then walks up the stairs of the porch, smiling when Laura walks up to him.

“There you are,” she says, pressing a kiss to Clint’s lips. “You’re just in time for lunch, I made sandwiches."

Clint lets her take his hand and she leads him inside the house. The kitchen smells like bread and fresh milk and Clint smiles because it’s all so familiar and – normal. He feels Laura’s arms wrap around his waist, her nimble fingers trying to unbutton his checkered shirt.

He abruptly clears his throat and turns around, an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry, I’m just a little tired from the flight,” he says.

“Alright,” Laura smiles. “We have time for that later, just sit down at the table and try to eat something.”

Clint doesn’t answer, knowing in his heart that there won’t be a later – he doesn’t even _want_ there to be a later. He pours some milk into a glass and brings it to his lips, staring out the window, trying to build up some courage for the things he has to say. There is a big stack of wood piled against the wall of the barn, divided into two rows. He smiles, remembering Steve and Tony both making their own row, giving each other competitive and dirty looks.

“What are you smiling at?” Laura asks him, sinking down in the chair across from him. Her hair is in a braid, hanging over her shoulder.

Clint shrugs. “Remembered something from when we were all here, Steve and Tony were bickering so much back then.”

“Are they alright?” Laura asks, taking a bite from her own sandwich.

“I suppose.”

“And Nat? Is there any development in the search for Bruce?”

Clint clenches his jaw, diverting his gaze to one of the flower paintings on the wall. “You know I can’t talk about that.”

“Come on,” Laura pleads, “It’s not like I’ve got anyone to tell it to who’d care. I just want to know whether Nat is okay.”

“You’ve got her phone number, you can ask her yourself, right? I can’t talk about it with you,” Clint says, already regretting the harsh sound of his voice.

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” Laura asks, a clipped tone in her voice. Clint shrugs, his mind already back in the Quinjet on his way to the base. Being here just affirms what he has felt the past three months, or rather, what he _hasn’t_ felt. He doesn’t belong here, out and away from the world. He needs to be there, with Steve and Tony, and the rest of the team. With Pietro.

“How are those twins?” Laura asks, ignoring the fact that Clint didn’t answer her previous question. “Is the team already regretting adding them to the Avengers?”

“They’re perfect, the best addition we could’ve hoped for,” Clint states, not liking the way Laura speaks about Wanda and Pietro.

“Really, though?” Laura asks, taking a sip of her orange juice and reaching over the table to hold Clint’s hand. “From what I’ve seen on TV they look like two freaks with some serious issues.”

“ _Freaks_?” Clint asks, his voice nearly breaking. “We had a guy who turns green and murderous every time he’s agitated, as well as some god from outer space, and you’re calling them freaks? They’re hurt, Laura, they didn’t have anywhere else to go but Ultron. If you watch TV then you’ve seen the footage, right? One of those freaks saved my life even though he didn’t have to, and the other one destroyed Ultron’s main body. Without those freaks you probably wouldn’t sit here ‘cause the whole world would’ve been extinct.”

Clint slides his chair backwards, the legs of the chair screeching across the kitchen floor. He stands up and walks towards the kitchen counter, leaning the palms of his hands on the edge and turning his back to Laura.

He hears her standing up as well, and she puts her hand on his shoulder. “Clint, don’t be so…” she sighs. “You only just got here and you’re already being like this.”

“Being like what?” Clint asks, turning around. “Not being the guy you want? The guy who comes home from a so-called military mission and let’s his girlfriend jump into his arms because he’s such an All-American hero? I thought you already knew that I am not that guy. I’m not a hero, I’m not a soldier. I’m just a – a _freak_ like everyone else on my team, and I am not going to apologise for being one.”

“Clint,” Laura says, sighing, “You’re overreacting. I didn’t mean anything bad when I said those twins are freaks, but they just seem a little off, that’s all.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might be a little off as well? And that’s why I only function properly when I am around them?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you function just fine around me,” Laura says, her hands on her hips.

“Do I?” Clint asks, taking a step forward. “’Cause I don’t feel that way anymore. I can’t be myself here, and that has nothing to do with the secrecy I am obligated to. It has to do with the fact that you do not want or cannot see who I really am. You don’t want to accept the fact that I’m just as damaged, just as clinically insane as some of the others on my team. In our own way, we’re all monsters but at least the Avengers come out with it. And I want to stop pretending to be just fine, when I know that I’m not.”

“So what’s this then?” Laura asks, a frown forming above her eyes. “Are you saying you’re done with us? I accepted you for who you were Clint, I didn’t ask you who you’ve killed and saved for this country – I never did that.”

“That’s the thing!” Clint exclaims. “You keep talking about me doing things for my country, but I don’t do _anything_ for my country. I worked for a selfish organisation who wanted to know every nook of the galaxy to make sure they were not being threatened, an organisation who created nuclear weapons for protection, fucking _protection_. I’ve chosen the wrong side of conflicts too many times because plain right and wrong don’t exist in the real world, Laura, and I am perfectly fine with that because at the end of the day, I’m still a selfish human being and I will still put my own human life first instead of for some corrupt nation.”

“I just don’t get it,” Laura says, sounding frustrated. “You never tell me anything and when you do it’s all contradictory stuff that I can’t understand!”

“And that is why I cannot be with you anymore,” Clint says, leaning against the kitchen counter and breathing out. “It just – it just doesn’t work, because no matter how many times I say it and in how many different ways, at the end of the day, you won’t understand. And I don’t blame you. You weren’t there when I was busy ripping out alien’s guts in New York or blowing up intelligent robots in Sokovia – but I need to have someone in my life who _does_ get that. We’ve been good for each other, really good, but the world has gotten crazier and I did as well. And I’m sorry for that.”

“So that’s it?” Laura asks, her voice thick with emotion. She wipes away a tear from her cheek. “Just because I don’t understand your job you decide to call it quits.”

Clint walks over to her, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. “That’s the thing,” he whispers in her hair. “It’s not just a job anymore. It’s who I am.”

He trades his hand along her hair one last time, smiling sadly.

Laura sighs, turning way. “I think you should go.”

“I know,” Clint says, “I’ll call you sometime, when all of this is – over, better.”

“Okay,” Laura nods, giving him one last glance before walking away towards the stairs.

Clint sighs, letting himself out. The door closes behind him and he never really understood the saying about a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but now he does.

He takes one last look at the house before he climbs back into the jet, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. Holding on to an overhead railing, he takes it out and looks at the screen.

**_I missed you @ breakfast this morning, hoping every thing is ok. Come back soon x –Pietro_ **

-

“Okay, that’s the last round for me,” Rhodey declares, dropping his bat on the table. “I didn’t even stand a chance against Sam and now I’ve just got my ass handed to be by a purple android.”

Vision smiles, giving Rhodey an apologetic look before walking over towards the scoreboard, scribbling another tally behind his name. The sun is setting behind the trees, marking the end of another day. Pietro sighs, looking at his knees. Clint was supposed to be back yesterday morning, but he’d sent the team a message that he needed some quiet, and that he’d be back the next day. He still isn’t here.

“Okay,” Steve says, uncurling himself from Tony’s embrace and slapping Pietro’s knee. “We’re up kid.”

Pietro snaps out of his thoughts, which had mainly been occupied by Clint the entire time since the man left. He stands up from the lounge chair and walks over towards the table. He twirls his ping-pong bat in his hand, bouncing the plastic ball on the table. He stares Steve down, taking an intimidating stance.

“Let’s see what you have got, old man,” he says.

“Hey, I thought you only called me that.”

Pietro turns around, a shy smile forming on his lips when he sees Clint walking onto the patio. He needs a moment to collect himself, shuffling on his feet while Clint hugs Natasha and giving a small nod to Wanda.

When Clint raises his eyebrows at Pietro, he sheepishly says, “Steve is an old man as well.”

Clint’s laughter warms him up inside, his nervous dread seeping away. He thought things would be tense and strained between them, and he nearly wanted to crawl back in bed and hide forever when he realised Clint left early to avoid him.

But Clint looks well-rested and happy, the time alone apparently having done him good. He walks over towards him, squeezing his elbow in a friendly way, and all of Pietro’s nerves evaporate.

 

Steve eventually beats him, but only by two points. Pietro shrugs it off, declaring Steve is older and therefore has more control over his reflexes. He walks inside to the kitchen to get a drink, stopping when he sees Clint bent over in front of the fridge, apparently searching for something.

He feels his cheeks heat up when Clint turns around, scared to be caught staring.

“Oh hey, didn’t see you,” Clint says, pushing up his sleeves to his elbows and taking a can of beer from the fridge door. “Do you want one?”

Pietro nods and gives Clint a smile when he hands him one. “So, where did you go?” he asks, opening the can. The liquid fizzles over the edge and Pietro quickly drinks some of it before it spills.

“Laura,” Clint says, taking a sip from his beer. “I, erm, I broke up with her; figured it’s been a long time coming.”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh?_ ” Clint echoes, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Come on, you knew.”

“No, really,” Pietro says, honestly, “I didn’t.”

Clint walks around the kitchen island, leaning against the counter. Pietro can feel the warmth emanating from his body, can see the small freckles on the bridge of Clint’s nose.

“So you really thought that I wouldn’t break up with my estranged girlfriend, not even after the guy I’ve secretly fancied for a while kissed me the night before?”

Pietro swallows hard. “You fancy me?”

“Yes,” Clint nods, “I do.”

“Wow,” Pietro breathes, looking at a point on the wall above Clint’s shoulders, his mind trying to catch up with what Clint just said.

“I’ll give you some time to recover,” Clint jokes, but his eyes turn serious again after a few seconds. “But I do want to ask you something, before I take my much-needed shower.”

Pietro’s thoughts wander to Clint in the shower but he pushes them away quickly. Clearing his throat, he asks, “What do you want to know?” 

“Whether you want to have dinner with me sometime. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow or this month – like I said, I just got out of a relationship,” Clint says, his eyes flicking up to meet Pietro’s. “But I did get out of it for you, because—because in the end, it’s you I want to be with. So, if you want, when you’re ready, just think about it?”

“Like a date?” Pietro can’t help but ask.

Clint shrugs. “If you want it to be, then yes.”

“Yes,” Pietro smiles. “I’d like that. Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very curious to hear what you guys think about this chapter! i absolutely love getting feedback and talking to you guys about the beauty that is the hawksilver ship♥
> 
> there is one chapter and an epilogue left so we're reaching the end!


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, we're really nearing the end now! i just wanted to say thank you again for all the lovely comments♥ today has been a rough day and reading all these sweet compliments is just great.
> 
> warning (or not?): smut ahead!

Two weeks later, Pietro is standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, pulling his shirt off. He drops it on the floor next to the other seven which have already gathered there in a pile.

“I can’t believe you’re going on a date,” Wanda says. She’s sitting on the bed, reading a magazine which she holds up floating in the air. Turning a page, she grins at Pietro. “I wish Clint could see this, he’d laugh his ass off.”

“Very funny,” Pietro mumbles, flicking through the hangers on his closet. “I have never been on a date before so excuse me for being nervous.”

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, sliding off the bed. “You guys have been on tons of dates together, you just never gave it a name until today. You’re just going to visit New York together, there is not much more to it.”

“Still,” Pietro shrugs. “I need something to wear.”

Wanda gives him a small push, standing in front of the closet herself. She slides some shirts out of the way and then nods, pulling a shirt from a hanger. “This one,” she says, giving the grey button-down with purple details to Pietro. “Clint is going to love this, he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you, trust me.”

Pietro blushes, holding the shirt in his hands. “I’m not sure that is the goal I should go for.”

“Tell me that when Clint has you pushed against the wall.”

“Wanda!”

“What?” his sister shrugs, “Everyone knows it’s going to happen eventually. He broke up with his girlfriend because of your kiss, he’s going to want more, trust me.”

“I regret calling you in here,” Pietro says sternly, pushing his arms in the sleeves of the shirt and buttoning it up, leaving the top two buttons undone. He walks over towards his bed, sitting down on the edge to tie the laces of his shoes.

“It’s a good sign that you are nervous, Pietro,” Wanda says, taking Pietro’s jacket from where it’s slung over the back of a chair.

“Let’s hope so,” Pietro sighs, putting the jacket on and giving his sister a hug. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I certainly hope not to see you again until tomorrow afternoon,” Wanda says, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Going now,”  Pietro declares, stepping out of the room before his sister can drop more embarrassing innuendos. He walks through the corridor and goes downstairs.

When he enters the foyer, Clint is already standing there, looking in the mirror and smoothening down his hair. Pietro has to smile at the sight, rapping his knuckles against the wooden handrail.

Clint looks up and stares at Pietro for a second, his eyes roaming over Pietro’s tight shirt and the dark, slim-fitted jeans he’s wearing. Then he clears his throat, meeting Pietro’s gaze, and says, “You look great.”

Pietro smiles, walking towards him. He gently touches the side of Clint’s hair with his fingertips, mussing it up again because that’s how he likes it. “So do you.”

Clint looks a little bashful at that and he looks around. “I think everyone else is either deliberately hiding or they’re watching us through the camera feed,” he mumbles to Pietro, a small grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

“I think the latter,” Pietro says, turning his head and arching his eyebrow at one of the cameras. “Let’s get out of here before they have enough footage to make one of those romantic videos.”

“They wouldn’t do that, right?” Clint asks, holding the door open for Pietro as they walk outside.

Pietro gives Clint a deadpan glance, letting their hands slide together and their fingers entangle.

Clint hums. “You’re right, they would.”

-

Tony had been so kind to lend his driver to them, and although Pietro almost declined when he offered, he’s now glad he didn’t. The drive to New York is short and he’s glad both he and Clint don’t have to pay attention to anything else but each other. Although, Pietro does take his eyes off of Clint when they drive through Park Avenue. He leans his head back on Clint’s shoulder, blessing Tony for having a car with a sunroof.

“You never get used to it, right?” he asks, looking at the buildings flashing by.

Clint turns his head sideways, pressing a kiss to Pietro’s hair and he shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

Happy drops them off a few minutes later and they wave him goodbye. Pietro looks up at the big building rising up in front of him. “The Cradle of Aviaton museum?” he asks Clint, bringing his gaze back to looking at him, “I was planning on visiting it soon. How did you know?”

Clint shrugs, squeezing Pietro’s fingers as they walk inside. “I may or may not have overheard you basically begging Wanda to go there,” he mumbles, turning his head to smile at Pietro’s surprised face. “In my defence, you were begging pretty loudly.”

“So that is why she didn’t want to go,” Pietro says, finally understanding.

“It was difficult though.” Clint nods to one of the museum employees who hands him a brightly coloured folder of all the exhibits. “I had to bribe her with two boxes of Cocoa Puffs. Normally it only takes one.”

“My sister drives a hard bargain,” Pietro nods solemnly, leaning closer to Clint to look at the folder. He can’t help but catch a whiff of Clint’s cologne and the fresh smell of the shampoo he uses, and he swallows hard, trying to focus on the exhibits pointed out in the folder.

"You know," Clint muses, "I was also thinking about whether to fly us out to D.C. so you could see the infamous Captain America exhibit."

“There is a Captain America exhibit?” he asks incredulously, “That’s really creepy, since Steve is actually – you know – _alive_.”

Clint snorts, nodding. “It is, there are videos of old people everywhere and they talk about all the heroic stuff he did. We can go sometime if you want to, but I fear it’s mostly just going to make both of us feel very bad about ourselves.”

“And,” Pietro adds, laughing, “Steve would be really creeped out if we suddenly knew all the trivia about him. We should do it sometime though, we could learn all of the cities he applied in by heart and then recite them all whenever he’s being annoying.”

“We are so going to do that,” Clint nods, his eyes twinkling. He catches Pietro staring at him and then wipes his free hand along his cheek, “What? Did I forget to wipe the chocolate from the corners of my mouth?”

Pietro silently shakes his head, smiling. “No.” He leans into Clint’s side as they walk along, blending into the crowd. “I think it’s just nice that we’re already planning a second date on our first date.”

Clint stops walking then, gently pulling Pietro into him until they’re chest to chest. “Sweetheart, if it’s always like this, the number of dates we’re going to have is going to be infinite,” he whispers, like he’s telling Pietro a secret no one else can know.

A warm feeling spreads in Pietro’s chest and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss against Clint’s lips, tightening his hold on Clint’s hand. If this is what love feels like, he never wants it to go away.

 

They eventually decide to go to the _Aviation in the Twenties_ -exhibit, taking the escalator to the third floor. Pietro loves going to New York, and he loves visiting the museums. He couldn’t have imagined a better date than this one, having Clint by his side and listening to the man’s deep voice while he explains things from the history of the United States. There are so many smart people on their team, but right now, Pietro thinks Clint knows a whole lot more than one initially would suspect.

“Look,” Clint says, stopping and pointing up at a white aircraft hanging from the ceiling. “That’s the _Spirit of St. Louis_. The pilot, Charles Lindbergh, was the first American to ever fly across the Atlantic Ocean and landing it safely on the coast of France. Like forty people had tried and failed before him. Most of them went missing and were presumed dead.”

“Wow,” Pietro mumbles, staring up at the off-white plane and studying it closely. “I can’t believe anyone would want to sit in that thing, much less fly it across the ocean.”

Clint chuckles softly. “Yeah, I guess that’s what the US was to the world back then, a country where dreamers, lunatics and heroes were one and the same. So many people adored Lindbergh like a god, practically storming his plane every time he landed somewhere during his tour.”

Pietro grins. “I think the same would’ve happened to us if we took your jet.”

“Hey,” Clint says, feigning insult, “I’ll have you know, I can land the Quinjet as inconspicuous and quiet as if it were a paper airplane.”

“Sure,” Pietro nods, “But then why do you decide most of the time to make grand entrances by flying it through at least a few buildings?”

“That was one time, smartass,” Clint grins, “And besides, all those buildings were under construction so it doesn’t really count. If I want to, I can land my jet perfectly silent.”

“In theory,” Pietro deadpans, walking further along the exhibit and examining the pictures of Charles Lindbergh’s parade on Times Square.

Clint catches up with him, his hand sliding around his waist. “You’re lucky we’re in a public place, otherwise I would’ve punished you for that remark.”

“Then perhaps I am not so lucky,” Pietro says, grinning when he feels Clint freeze up for a second.

-

After visiting the second exhibit, having strolled around slowly and mostly only paying attention to each other, they walk through the front door again. The sun has already set behind the skyscrapers and the headlights of the cars are swooshing past them.

Pietro tilts his head upwards, looking at the blue sky, painted with hints of pink and orange. He lets his eyes drift along the tops of the skyscrapers until he spots the _A_ on top of the Avengers tower.

Turning towards Clint, he points at the tower. “What is Tony doing with the tower now?” he asks, curious.

Clint shrugs. “Renovating again, I guess. He told me once during training that Pepper has been running the place so it’s probably going to be the headquarters of Stark Industries.”

“Alright,” Pietro hums, “I’d still like to see in from the inside though, you’ve told me so much about it.”

“Then I guess that’s what’s planned for our third date,” Clint grins, his hand settled on Pietro’s neck, his fingers playing with the long strands of hair. It makes Pietro shudder and feel warm all over.

“If we continue like this, we’ll have our fifteenth date planned by the end of the evening,” Pietro says, allowing Clint to slide his arm around his waist as they walk along the sidewalk.

“Like I said before,” Clint says, “I really don’t mind thinking about the future with you. But now – I think I should take you to a really fancy restaurant. I’m not finished wooing you, you know?”

“Wooing me?” Pietro asks, staring at their feet as they walk. He feels a strange, excited bubble inside of him, being out here in the open with Clint. How long has he waited for the man to touch him, to kiss him? And now here they are, and Clint is just as crazy for him as he is for Clint. It’s sometimes too much to comprehend, that after all he has been through, it finally looks like he’s found a place where he belongs, a place where he can work on his own happy ending.

“Of course.” Clint’s words interrupt his thoughts. “Although, you see, I am in quite of a dilemma over here.”

“Oh yeah?” Pietro asks, his lips automatically turning into a smile whenever Clint says or does literally _anything_. “What’s your dilemma?”

Clint shrugs, his arm tightening around Pietro’s waist like he’s trying to remind himself that, _yes, he’s really here_. “Whether you’d appreciate a fancy four-star restaurant which serves a tiny bit of food on a huge plate, or a pizza joint owned by some very nice Italians?” He stops walking, holding Pietro close in his arms. “So, wonderboy. What’s it gonna be?”

Pietro grins, his hands sliding along Clint’s ribs. “You know I can never say no to pizza.”

“Good,” Clint laughs, “’Cause I didn’t make a reservation at a fancy restaurant.”

“You didn’t?” Pietro shakes his head fondly. “Then what if I had chosen the restaurant?”

Clint shrugs. “I guess I just knew that you wouldn’t.”

 

The small pizza place is perfect. Pietro spends at least five minutes just looking around, smelling the herbs and spices, the sharp scent of the tomato sauce. It’s a quiet place, with soft violin music playing in the background and the laughter of the patron ringing through the air every once in a while. It’s already getting late, the clock just having his past nine p.m.

They start off eating with their cutlery but after they exchange a quick look, they drop their knives and forks on their folded napkins and actually dig in. Pietro folds his slice of pizza, taking a bite and feeling how the taste explodes on his tongue and he knows his eyes are shining. He can see the exact same sparkle in Clint’s eyes.

After he’s done eating, Pietro declares, “That was the best pizza I’ve ever had.” He wipes his mouth on his napkin and crumples it. “You, Clint Barton, definitely know how to take someone on a date.”

Clint gives a half-hearted shrug, taking a sip from his iced tea. “It’s easy when the one you’re taking on a date is actually a really nice person.”

“Yeah?” Pietro asks, “You think I’m a really nice person?”

“I think you’re a hell of a lot more than that, but I don’t think now’s the time for love declarations.”

Pietro raises his eyebrows, smiling. “Oh? It’s not?”

Clint shakes his head, his eyes trailing over Pietro’s shirt and back to his eyes. Pietro can see the grey in his eyes becoming darker and feels a thrill go down his spine.

“No,” Clint says, “Because that shirt has been driving me crazy for the entire afternoon, and I’m thinking you’re wearing it on purpose, aren’t you?”

Pietro knows his cheeks are turning red. “I, erm, Wanda told me to wear it,” he says sheepishly. “She thought you’d – you’d like the purple?”

“Oh, I like it alright,” Clint says, taking a deep breath and reaching over to squeeze Pietro’s hand.

“Do you want to—” Pietro can hardly believe he’s actually going to say this, “—maybe skip dessert?”

Clint gets up to pay.

-

The drive back to the base seems to take ages and Pietro feels his cheeks heating up every time Clint’s hand drifts a little higher on his thigh. He’s glad Happy doesn’t notice it, figuring he is probably used to keeping his eyes on the road after driving so many years for Tony Stark.

Pietro feels his fingers turning slightly cold with anticipation as they ride onto the terrain. Happy turns the car in the cul-de-sac, turning around in his seat and giving them a smile. “Here we are, guys. Hope you’ll continue to have a lovely night.”

“You too, Happy,” Clint says, giving the man a friendly clap on his shoulder. “Thanks for driving us, Pietro was being a little iffy about the jet.”

“Rightly so,” Pietro adds, smiling sweetly when Clint gives him a look that speaks of both exasperation and longing.

They get out of the car, waving Happy off as the car disappears beyond the gate.

“One day I’ll take you out on one of those fifteen dates and I’ll show you just how good I can handle the jet,” Clint says gruffly, his touch burning on Pietro’s side.

There are sounds coming from the kitchen, pots and pans rattling and Pietro only needs about two seconds to conclude that there’s another cook-off happening. They’ve been having a lot of those lately – ever since Steve demanded his broccoli truly wasn’t so bad as everyone claimed it was. Pietro had tasted it and had fallen victim to the Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you-face when he’d shrugged and said that everyone was right. Steve’s broccoli was _awful_.

“Do you think,” Pietro swallows hard when he feels Clint’s warm, rough hand slipping underneath his shirt, “Do you think we should go and say hi?”

Clint steps closer, his chest flush against Pietro’s back and Pietro can feel the hardness in Clint’s pants when he presses their hips together.

“F-Fuck,” Pietro mutters, his head leaning back to rest on Clint’s shoulder, the other man sucking a kiss behind his ear.

“We can say hi tomorrow,” Clint declares, stepping back and grabbing hold of Pietro’s hand, guiding him up the stairs.

Pietro hastily follows, trying not to trip over his feet as they make their way towards the second floor. A shaky moan leaves his lips when Clint pushes him against the wall, trapping his body with two strong arms on either side of his shoulders.

“Where’s your key?” Clint asks, his breathing warm against Pietro’s lips, stealing a kiss while Pietro fumbles for the key in the back pocket of his jeans. He pushes it into Clint’s hand, who hastily opens the door.

They drag each other inside, bodies close and their lips pressed together in a messy kiss. The keys rattle when Clint drops them on the floor, both of their jackets quickly following.

Walking over towards the bed, Pietro kicks his shoes off and moves his hands towards his shirt but Clint’s hands beat him to it, gently pushing them away. Pietro lets them fall to his side, letting out a low moan when Clint opens the buttons of his shirt himself, his lips trailing kisses along the revealed skin. He unbuckles Pietro’s belt, opening his jeans and allowing him some space to get out of them.

“Bed?” Pietro whispers breathlessly, his lips captured again in a kiss.

Clint nods and stares heatedly as Pietro climbs onto the bed, wearing nothing but his tight-fitting boxers. He quickly sheds his own clothes, revelling in the way Pietro’s blue eyes seem to light up every time he lets a garment fall to the floor.

Pietro opens his legs wider when Clint gets on the bed, settling in between his thighs. He reaches up to kiss Clint, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders and hooking his feet around Clint’s ankles. Another moan escapes his lips when Clint moves his lips to his neck, sucking a bruise, all the while grinding their erections together.

“Fuck.” Clint groans in the crook of Pietro’s neck, feeling his arousal spread through his body. “You feel so fucking—fucking _perfect_ underneath me.”

The wet kisses down his chest and the grunted confession make Pietro feel like he’s on fire and he groans, feeling Clint’s stubble sliding lower down his stomach.

He lifts his hips up, mumbling, “Yes, please,” towards the ceiling when Clint hooks his fingers around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down to his knees and then off his legs. Only a second passes and then he feels the head of his cock enveloped in a warm, wet heat, and he gets incoherent.

“Fuck,” Clint moans, lapping up a drop of pre-cum. “You taste so fucking good, I could do this all day.” He dips back down, licking and pressing kisses along Pietro’s length before taking him inside his mouth again.

Pietro keens, the warm lips around him and the strong hands on his thighs making him feel powerless and needy.

Clint takes him deep for a while and then sucks and licks around the head of his cock before dipping his mouth lower again, taking him in and Pietro digs his heals into the mattress, stars bursting before his eyes. He cries out when Clint brings a hand up, rubbing and tweaking at one of his nipples.

“Clint,” Pietro pants, his chest heaving, “You feel so fucking good, God, I wish, wish we could have done this sooner – never would’ve let you go if we did. You’re too, fuck, Clint!”

The tension in his stomach only rises with every lick, with every time Clint moans around his cock and it vibrates through his whole body. Pietro is grabbing at the sheets, his nails making scratches in the skin of Clint’s broad shoulders. He feels the tensed muscles underneath his fingers, moving them to feel the soft hair on Clint’s head, finding purchase in the nape of Clint’s neck.

He keeps his hands there, opening his eyes to look at the sight between his legs. A heartfelt groan leaves his lips when Clint takes him down all the way and he knows he’s not going to last.

“I—I’m going to—fuck,” Pietro cries out. His orgasm hits him like waves crash onto the beach and he feels his back arch, his hands slipping up his body, holding onto Clint’s until the white blur before his eyes disappears.

He opens his eyes again, feeling Clint reach up and lie down on top of him. Clint slides his thumb along the corner of his mouth, sucking the drop of cum off of it. “Damn,” he says, his voice sounding rough.

Pietro can’t take his eyes off of Clint’s face, looking at the mussed up hair and his content expression. He feels Clint’s erection against his thigh, big and throbbing and he has to press his lips together to prevent himself from whining.

He captures Clint’s lips in a kiss, moving his hand down Clint’s side until he reaches his hip. Dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of Clint’s boxers, he feels the slick head of Clint’s cock. “Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head in Clint’s neck. “You’re so big, will you let me jack you off?”

A breathy laugh falls from Clint’s lips. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbles, catching Pietro’s lower lip between his teeth. “Go ahead.”

Pietro pushes Clint’s boxers down his thighs, feeling his cock bob into his hand and he curls his fingers tighter around it, revelling in the way Clint’s eyes fall closed.

Pushing his leg between Clint’s thighs, he jacks him off while Clint ruts against him, leaving a trail of wet kisses along his neck. The low grunts in his ear make the hairs on Pietro’s neck stand on end.

“Shit,” Clint whispers, sounding amazed, “You’ve really done a number on me. J-Just twist your hand a bit, you’re going to make me cum.”

Pietro moans at the words, twisting the movements of his hand and sliding his other hand down to Clint’s balls, rolling them in the palm of his hand. He feels the shallow thrusts of Clint’s hips against his thigh increase and he brings his lips up to Clint’s ear.

“I can’t wait for the time when you’ll put your cock inside of me.”

Clint groans, “F-Fuck.” His body stiffens against Pietro’s and it just takes two more gentle tugs on his cock until Clint is spilling all over Pietro’s hand and stomach. He brings his hand up to Pietro’s neck, his thumb rubbing along Pietro’s jawline as he tries to regain his breath.

Pietro smiles, turning his head to kiss Clint, tasting himself on Clint’s tongue. When he opens his eyes, he meets Clint’s. The other man is staring at him, like he can’t believe that everything that happened between them today, everything that happened just then, that it’s all real.

A smile tugs at Pietro’s lips, and he gives Clint a few seconds to realise that, _yes, all of this is really happening_. He tugs the blankets around them, and cuddles close to Clint. He gives him a cheeky smile, “What…? You didn’t see that coming?”

Clint snorts, pressing a kiss into Pietro’s hair and folding his arms around him underneath the blankets. “Smartass,” he whispers, his voice soft with fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was the last official chapter of this fic! tomorrow i'll post a short epilogue to wrap it up nicely♥  
> \- big thanks to liandrin for pointing out a mistake concerning the fact that i got two cities mixed up - i fixed it :)
> 
> feedback is highly appreciated!


	8. epilogue

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Clint asks, squeezing Pietro’s hand. They are walking along the beach, the sun already setting and hovering just above the horizon. He feels sand slipping into his shoes, itching underneath the soles of his feet.

“Of course,” Tony calls out, walking behind them and carrying a basket. He spreads out the checkered picnic blanket, handing a row of plastic cups to Steve to unpack. Natasha kicks off her sandals, a camera hanging around her neck.

“Tony’s right,” she says, after everything from the picnic basket is unpacked and laid out on the blanket. “We did it when he and Steve had their one year anniversary, so now we’re doing it for you guys as well. It’s a tradition, Clint, we need to honour those.”

“Technically it’s already been longer than a year. And since when do we have traditions? We never had those before,” Clint protests, trying to ignore Pietro’s strong arms sliding around his waist.

“It only takes a while, so let’s get it over with,” Pietro smiles. “Besides, it would be nice to have some pictures, don’t you think? The wall above our bed is still empty.”

Clint shrugs, already feeling his resolve crumbling as Pietro guides him towards the shoreline. They kick off their shoes and walk into the water, feeling it reach up a couple inches.  

“Fine,” Clint says, giving Pietro a half-hearted smile.

The rest comes walking over quickly, Natasha uncapping the lens of her camera. “Okay, Clint, can you at least try to look like you’re not constipated?”

“Only if you promise that we’re not getting a huge-ass portrait hanging in the kitchen, because Steve and Tony’s still freaks me out at night,” Clint says, wrapping his arm around Pietro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Steve and Tony say at the same time. Steve raises his finger. “Those are some cute pictures, Barton, and I don’t think yours are going to be cuter.”

“Okay, enough,” Wanda laughs, wrapping a scarf around her shoulders. “I promise you Clint, your picture will not be in the kitchen. I think it’s going up in the hallway.”

Natasha grins at her. “No promises, though. We can also hang it in the bathroom.” She turns on her camera, checking the various options. “Shit,” she hums. “The sun is giving too much back light.”

“Oh, how sad.”

Pietro pokes Clint’s side. “Be nice.”

“Perhaps I can help?” Vision steps forward, the gem in his head glowing.

“As long as you do not try to fry us,” Pietro says, feeling his feet sink lower in the sand, the cool sea water reaching up to their ankles. A warm breeze is making the water ripple, his hair slowly moving in the wind.

Vision promises he won’t accidentally kill them, stepping forward without actually stepping into the frame. The gem in his forehead casts a beam of light onto them.

“Perfect,” Natasha grins, bringing the camera up to her eyes.

Clint takes a deep breath, holding onto Pietro and smiling into the big lens. They stay at it for a while, the team calling out suggestions for poses and Natasha’s camera shuttering with every picture they take.

“Last one,” Pietro calls out, turning and facing Clint.

“I thought it was never going to end,” Clint mutters against Pietro’s lips, kissing him deeply. The cheers and the camera shutters fade away to the background, and he holds onto Pietro a little tighter, one hand slipping into Pietro’s neck and thumbing at the soft skin behind his ear.

Eventually, they break up their kiss and everyone makes their way back to the picnic blanket. Wanda gets a small fire going and Steve demands to be in charge of the make-shift barbecue Tony quickly tinkered together. The team lets him, because even Steve would have to try very hard to mess up barbecuing.

Clint leans back on his hands, his leg slung over Pietro’s, their feet entangled in the soft sand. “I could definitely get used to this,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to Pietro’s cheek, looking around him.

It has been a year since their first date, and it’s been a rollercoaster from the start. Exhilarating, scary, difficult, amazing and consuming, but it only takes one look in Pietro’s eyes to know that it’s all been worth it. He’s found the person who understands him, who knows why he is what he is, and who has held onto him through it all. Pietro, who lightens up every time they are together, whose eyes now only speak of warmth and acceptance, and who would literally give his life for him.

Clint knows the love will last between them, because every time he looks at Pietro it’s like feeling the earth move.

 

the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright guys, that was it! i feel very happy to have been able to finish this in under a week. thank you all for your compliments and pointers, thanks to you i worked my hardest to make this fic a good one!
> 
> feedback is lovingly drooled upon, as always ♥
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://www.awwvengers.tumblr.com)


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